


Into the Diary

by Aquamarine_Weasley



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, Angst, Innocent Harry Potter, M/M, Obscurial Harry Potter, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-06-09 23:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19486330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquamarine_Weasley/pseuds/Aquamarine_Weasley
Summary: There was nothing special about the new second-year Slytherin.Dressed in over-sized, second hand robe, he looked even smaller than other 12-year-olds. That pair of dorky glasses and messy raven-colored hair which resembled bird-nest didn't make him look any better.The boy was definitely nothing special. Tom was sure.Until he met those vivid green eyes===============================================================================12-year-old Harry never expected that entering Tom Riddle's diary would result in his arrival in 1940s of real world.Or it was what it appeared to be.





	1. Prologue

He was already bored before the Start-Of-Term feast even began.

Tom Riddle, the fifth year prefect in House of Slytherin, who just returned to his only home - Hogwarts after another unbearable summer in Wool’s orphanage. This magical castle of mysteries was where the orphan found his true self and built his kingdom. He might have stepped into this castle as a malnourished, unwanted child, but he had certainly grown during the past four years. With his flawless performance, he was top in every of his classes. Students worshiped him, teachers favored him. A shiny “prefect” badge fastened on his chest, the exact prove of his excellence.

But of course Tom’s ambition was far from that.

He hated weakness. He had sworn to himself that one day he would become the most powerful and greatest wizard in the world. For 4 years he had collected his wings and claws, with a little gang of his - Knights of Walpurgis - bowed to his power. Edward Avery, Ralph Lestrange, Reeves Rosier, Blake Mulciber and Perry Nott, all these Slytherin boys were either from an old, pure-blood family, or infamous for cruelty, but none of them easy to bend. Yet they acknowledged Tom Riddle, an orphan with an unrecognizable surname, as their _lord_.

The lord of power, the lord of desire, the lord of _darkness_.

Tom wasn’t attending the little chat his knights heatedly engaging right now, but he knew how the other boys observed his reaction during the conversation. With a gesture, he could switch this to whatever he liked, to hear whatever he wanted to. However, at this very moment, he needed a little time for his own.

Yes, it was miracle that him, a nameless nobody, could pull the strings on those pure-blood heirs. But this was not enough, way not enough for his ambition. What he had now was nothing more than a school boy group. What they had done was schoolyard games at most. But the world outside was cruel.

He needed more than that - he needed to be influential, he needed to be connected with upper class, he needed respect from the whole Wizarding world. But with an unrecognizable name, he was merely a floating duckweed trying to hold onto something solid to avoid flowing with crowd and vanishing in the stream of history. 

If he wanted to accomplish something truly remarkable in _this_ world, he needed a root of his own. He needed to know his parentage, needed a respectful surname, a connection to the most ancient, noble magical family, a prove of his superiority.

Of course he had never considered what else a family could mean for him. What was family love compared with limitless power? He had his ambitious dream, his endless thirst. Those were enough to fuel his life.

========

Tom frowned at the rambling speech about safety issues. Yes, with Gellert Grindelwald ravaging the whole European continent, one could only expect the intensified horror and strengthened ward for safeguard, even if Hogwarts was claimed to be the safest place in the world.

He was dying to go to Hogwarts library already, where he had spent most of his spare time trying to find a trace of his parentage. He had searched his father’s name - Tom Riddle senior - on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of students’ names in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history, but nothing valuable had come to him. Reluctantly, he had to admit there was certainly no Riddle who ever set foot in Hogwarts. Just before the summer break, He started to investigate his middle name, Marvolo, which he knew from the orphanage had been his grandfather’s name. That single name was his only clue now. It would be a protracted struggle, he was sure.

Yet he was so desperate to know. It was clear that he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the most outstanding student in Hogwarts for decades, could never be a nobody. He had the rare ability of Parseltongue, the very talent of Salazar Slytherin himself. He knew deeply that the greatest ancient blood was in him. What he needed was more clue, more evidence, so he could announce it to the rest of the world, to claim what was his.

He knew he was never meant to be ordinary. He was special, with great things waiting for him in the future.

=======

Tom sighed in relief when the headmaster, Armando Dippet, finally stopped his speech, which meant this torment would end soon.

But well, he was being too optimistic about it.

“We have a special transfer student this term. I am mostly delighted to introduce young Harry Granger. He is going to start his education in Hogwarts as a second-year student. Now, would you please come front, Mr. Granger?” the headmaster started talking again, in a tone which was too gentle and disgusted Tom a little.

Tom didn’t even notice that too small figure near the gate until it started moving. It was a short, lean boy with a pair of glasses and messy raven-colored hair that resembled a bird nest. He seemed to be around 12, or 11, so small that Tom could barely see him through the crowd. The boy was dressed in over-sized robes, so large on him that Tom wondered how he managed to walk without being trapped. Even from distance, it was clear that the little boy was trembling all the way to the High Table, which was actually quite comical.

“Pathetic little thing there, isn’t it?”

Lestrange chuckled on his left, and Tom couldn’t agree more.

“Mr. Granger just lost his family in Grindelwald’s followers’ merciless attack. He is experiencing the greatest misfortune in a war, therefore I expect nothing but warmth and welcome from both staff and students.” Professor Dippet introduced in a solemn way, then he turned to the boy and said.

“As I explained about sorting, Mr. Granger, there are four houses in Hogwarts- Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, whichever house you are in, I hope you find home there.”

Professor Dippet smiled benignly to the boy, who returned him a nervous nod.

Soon the sorting hat covered the entire head of the boy, so Tom could no longer see his face. Not that he’s interested, it was just a very unusual condition. He had never heard of transfer students in Hogwarts, even during his endless research in Hogwarts history and student name lists.

It became even more unusual as it seemed a life time for the hat to decide, as if the hat was considering that little boy as a comfortable hat stand and would never let go.

“Merlin, I’m starving. I bet that git is actually a Squib. That bloody hat is not sorting him anywhere.” Nott cursed under breath.

“If he’s a Squib he’ll never be here.” Tom replied in amusement. “Patience, Nott.”

But it was just peculiar, so peculiar. He could already hear murmurs everywhere around the hall. He became more and more curious like everyone else did.

After another life-time long waiting.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Tom could literately hear the whole hall sighed in relief as the hat shouted. He also noticed that the boy definitely became paler and trembled more furiously. He gazed as Granger climbed down the stool, shared an awkward handshake with headmaster, walked to Slytherin’s long table and sat at the very end. Clearly Granger wasn’t happy about the sorting.

Well, no matter what it is, it seemed at least he’d got another duty as a prefect then.

=======

The feast finished uneventfully. Tom approached the new comer who seemed to be at a loss. He couldn’t really blame the boy for not socializing properly though. He knew too well about being an outsider.

“Mr. Granger.”

He didn’t expect the boy jolted to his voice, nor did he expect meeting the boy in the eye would bring him a sensation that was -

\- was like he could find something long lost behind those emerald eyes.

He lost words for a while. Something about the boy smoothed his unsettling soul. Something warm, something nostalgic, something home.

Like greeting with a long-lost friend, or welcoming a family, although he had neither.

He knew something there, unexpected and indescribable, he just couldn’t understand why.

“Yes?”

Granger was staring him nervously. He cleared his throats, finding his voice again.

“My name is Tom Riddle, Slytherin’s prefect. Please follow me, I will lead you to our common room.”

And he must have imagined the shock in the boy’s eyes.


	2. Back to Hogwarts

Harry was in so much trouble.

The last thing he remembered was the diary activated, with pages turning into something resembled a mini scaled television screen as they brew, then his body left his bed, into a whirl of color and shadow. Everything blurred after that.

When he agreed to enter Riddle’s diary, he imagined someone (Riddle himself maybe) would be there and give him a tour about whatever he wanted to show. But it turned out he ended up nowhere but the middle of a forest alone. Not any forest, judged by his very unpleasant experience last year and the familiar scent, he was in the Forbidden Forest.

But at least he was still in Hogwarts’ borderline, that was a relief. 

Beads of sweat started to appear on Harry’s forehead. He had no idea what time it was. When he was investigating the diary, it was already dark outside. But according to those patches of ruby-red sky he could see through the trees, it could be no later than six in the evening.

Harry couldn’t really distinguish this was real or a vision of some sorts. He had no idea how and what Riddle intended to show him. He did remember Riddle wrote _“inside my memory”_ in the diary, so it couldn’t be real, right?

 _But it definitely feels real_. Harry thought desperately when he stumbled at roots for the third time.

If this was real, Harry knew he couldn’t afford to be caught in the Forbidden Forest again. One more school rule broken he’d be expelled (although his records were not quite clean already), Dumbledore had made it pretty clear.

He didn’t even have his wand with him. He wasn’t holding one when he was reading that bloody diary which supposed to be harmless.

Harry cursed under breath. Inside a dairy or not, he now wanted nothing but being safely in his own comfortable four-poster bed. He’d already had a long day.

Luckily the trees had thinned, he could even see the castle from distance. Just as he reached edge of the forest, relieved at the thoughts that he could probably sneak into the Great Hall without being noticed, he saw a tall figure strode directly to him. It took Harry some time to identify who that man was. But when he recognized him, he paled.

It was Dumbledore, the headmaster.

 _Good job, Harry, caught at the crime scene_. Harry thought desperately. He was so, so going to be in trouble.

The man was soon in front of Harry. It occurred to Harry that there was a reason he didn’t recognize the headmaster immediately. Dumbledore looked different. He was apparently younger, with hair and beard in an auburn color instead of silver. His eyes were also colder, not the warm, gleaming twinkle Harry remembered. Fearing being caught though, the curiosity prevailed over,

“Professor? Why…”

Bewildered, Harry called out but halted. It seemed rude to ask his headmaster the reason for his new looks.

Dumbledore did not answer immediately, but raised his wand and whispered a few incantations. Harry felt warmth swept him but nothing more happened.

“Why, young man? I am here to ask you.” asked Dumbledore, with his expression softened after seeing nothing happened.

“Who are you and why are you here?”

Harry gaped at the man before realization slowly came to him.

That was Dumbledore fifty years younger and _he was in the 1940s for real._

=======

“Please, sit down.”

Harry only visited Dumbledore’s office once (in his time), but _this_ Dumbledore’s office was different. It looked like a teacher’s office, not headmaster’s. Apparently, Dumbledore wasn’t headmaster fifty years ago.

“Mr. Potter, I must admit I was most astonished when I was alarmed that someone broke the ward on the ground, that’s why I came all the way to you.” Harry could feel the familiar penetrating gaze again. “Could you explain why and how you entered Forbidden Forest?”

Harry started hastily, telling Dumbledore everything he knew. Those attacks in 1993, rumors about the Chamber, those disembodied voice he heard, _Riddle’s diary_ …except for the Polyjuice Potion and his experience in Slytherin’s common room, he tried to explain everything. Feeling Dumbledore’s gaze grew more and more intense, he started to falter. _What if this Dumbledore do not believe him?_ Dumbledore hadn’t known him in 1940s. To him, he was probably nobody but a suspicious intruder.

“Riddle? Could it possibly be Tom Riddle you are talking about? Our 5th year Slytherin prefect?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Harry didn’t know Riddle was a prefect and a _Slytherin_. It unsettled him a little bit.

“Do you still have that diary with you?”

“Well, no. I’m here because of it though. It acted like a door, or a tunnel sorts of things, I guess.”

“Hmmmm.” with his fingers on his chin, Dumbledore seemed to be in thought. Driven by tension, Harry couldn’t help but interrupted.

“Professor, I, I’m really sorry about it. I know it’s hard to believe, but I really have no idea how I got here. I was just holding that diary before, in my dormitory in Gryffindor Tower - in _1993_ \- I have no idea how I ended up in the Forbidden Forest in…in…”

“In 1942, Mr. Potter.” said Dumbledore, “Be calm, I never said I don’t believe you. It is other issues I find concerning.”

He started to pace in the office.

“Time is mysterious. Mr. Potter. Powerful, but dangerous when meddled with. Theoretically, it’s not possible to travel in decades even with the most powerful time-turner. But you, my boy, just claimed yourself travelling fifth years ahead of time.”

“It’s true! I’m really from 1993…” Harry argued before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore raised a hand-

“Somehow there are legends and rumors about time-travelers in many centuries – in fact many exceptionally powerful wizards had claimed themselves as time-travelers - but none of them proven. There’s no way to prove it, because those unauthorized time-travels were only witnessed by the travelers themselves.”

Dumbledore looked Harry in the eyes, there was again, the penetrating gaze he’s familiar with.

“It doesn’t matter people believe you or not, Mr. Potter.” the old man sighed, “Better if it is not true, actually. Because time-traveling is very, very dangerous thing, especially for the traveler.”

Harry blinked in confusion. Seeing the boy bewildered, Dumbledore started to explain. 

“Imagine yourself, traveled back to five years ago, instead of fifty years ago. What would you do if you met your younger self?”

“I’d tell him he will get Hogwarts’ letter in a few years, he won’t be stuck with Dursleys forever.” Harry shrugged. “so my younger self can maybe make contacts with the magic world sooner, he doesn’t have to wait that long.”

“Exactly. The younger you would know some information he shouldn’t know.” said Dumbledore, “and that’s the problem. When people shouldn’t know, they should _never_ know.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Time-magic is one of the most complex kind of magic. It’s governed under natural laws that magic can only manipulate a very limited degree. A small breach in the law can result in catastrophic events. In your case, your younger self’s life is going to be changed forever, if he knows something he shouldn’t know at that point of time.”

Harry lost words at this. What was the difference between knowing who he really was at an age of seven and at an age of eleven? Was he really going to be living an entirely different life?

“Travelling back in five years and only influencing yourself is one thing.” Dumbledore continued. “Travelling back in decades and meeting other people is another. Madam Eloise Mintumble managed to travel back in 5 centuries for a few days. Her stay in 1402 resulted in disappearance of at least twenty-five people – the descendants of the people she influenced – they were, completely unborn.”

Harry gasped.

“Does that mean if I stay here, some of people, my friends maybe, they will disappear?” The thought of never seeing Ron and Hermione again terrified him, if his recklessness would cause them disappear…

“It might be possible, my boy. The longer you stayed, the greater impact there is going to be.” Dumbledore sighed again. “But most unfortunately, we don’t have a way for you to go back now.”

Harry’s stomach sunk at these words.

“If you still have Riddle’s diary, I suppose there’s something we can try.” Dumbledore said. “All time-travellings require devices, such as a time-turner. Riddle’s dairy could be one, only disguised to be a dairy. Rare, but not completely impossible.”

“So if I want to go back, I must have Riddle’s diary.” Stealing Riddle’s diary might be a solution. Eagerness for going home had overcome the guilt for the crime.

“Yes and no.” Dumbledore seemed to see through what Harry was thinking. “You need an activated, powerful magical artifact that sent you here – in your case, Riddle’s diary – but I suspect it is the same dairy though. Talented as Mr. Riddle is, no one in 16 can create such powerful thing. Even if he is really, well, keeping a diary every day, it is probably only an ordinary diary.”

“The, the diary won’t be working right now?”

“That’s what I meant.”

“If the diary really won’t work, what should I do then, professor? I can’t stay here! I’ll mess up the timeline, vanishing my friends.” Panic drowned him. What if Dumbledore, the greatest wizard he’d ever known, couldn’t think of a way for him to go back?

“Don’t panic, Harry.” Dumbledore comforted him, “You are only 12. You are far less influential than an unspeakable who worked in Department of Mysteries. There is, ah, very little disturbance you can cause if you remain unnoticed. As for your way back, I suppose there’s still something we can do. I need you to give me some time for investigation.”

“Th, thank you, sir.”

“And during this period, I recommend you to stay in Hogwarts. You are, at least familiar with the castle, right?”

“I consider it as my home, sir.” Harry said.

“Good, good. It’s better to disguise as a student than drawing attention out of school.” The old man smiled sadly. “You chose a bad timing to come, Harry. We are in a war.”

Despite the clear sadness in Dumbledore's voice, Harry felt a little relieved. At least he’s still allowed to remain in Hogwarts. But still, he felt lost, dreadful for the future that he’d probably never be able to return, that he’d never meet his friends again, and most of all, that any careless action of his would inevitably cause harm he had no intention to.

“And there’s another thing, I think you must have already understood now.” Dumbledore continued before Harry could make a word, “is that you never, ever tell your secret to anyone. And if possible, I’d suggest you don’t grow too intimate to anyone. The consequence will be severe, especially to you. Also, you’d better use an unnoticeable name.”

“I can’t use my real name?”

“You may keep your first name. The name Harry is common enough.” said Dumbledore, “However, your last name – Potter – is known by most of the wizarding families. The only descendants of the Potters in this generation are Charlus and Fleamont, both graduated and not old enough to have a 12-year-old child. Your existence will raise unwanted questions. In fact, I’d recommend you not to put yourself into any pureblood family tree.”

“So a muggle-born name is better then.” said Harry said, and Dumbledore nodded to him.

“Well, I guess, Granger then. the surname of my friend. She’s a muggle-born so I guess this works.” Hermione’s name was the first one that came into Harry’s mind, although the thought about one of his best friends pained him a little.

“Harry Granger.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, “Sounds nice. You are now Harry Granger, who was kept home-schooled until your home was ravaged by Grindelwald’s followers.” He summoned a copy of Daily Prophet. “This one has news about an attack in a muggle street in London, just a few days ago. It will help with your background story.”

Their conversation went on about details of Harry’s fake identity, until Harry could memorize it and repeat without stuttering. Harry felt like he was someone suffering from memory loss, and Dumbledore was his therapist telling him about the life he didn’t remember.

Slowly, his horror died away. Gratitude towards his professor swelled in his heart. Maybe running into Dumbledore in the first place was the fortune out of misfortune.

Really, it could be a lot, lot worse.

=======

“There you go, Harry. I hope you are not a terrible liar.” Dumbledore beamed merrily. Harry found smile somehow climbed onto his face as well.

“I could most certainly try, sir.”

“Now, before we see the headmaster, I recommend you to change. I’ve got a few old robes left by former students. I suppose I could find something your size.”

They both stood up, it was then Dumbledore noticed something about him.

“Well, you seem to have a little guest with you, Harry.” Dumbledore looked down, his eyes widened a little.

Confused. Harry followed Dumbledore’s gaze and nearly jumped when he saw a small black snake coiling in the rolled-up bottom of his jeans. The snake was no bigger than an earthworm, but as dark as midnight, with a pair of gleaming golden eyes. It was hissing lazily, not caring the drama it caused.

“I’m so sorry, Professor.” Harry dropped his head to have a _closer_ look at the snake. ” _It must have followed me from the forest._ ”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, It's probably from the forest...I’ll put it back.” Harry raised his head to answer the old professor, louder this time. The old man probably didn't hear him clearly just now.

“Don’t bother, my boy.” Dumbledore smiled in agreement as Harry lightly lifted the small creature. “It’s late. Make sure it’s under your supervisor. I’m sure it won’t bite _you_. You may put it back when you have a chance tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, a little confused why Dumbledore was so sure the snake wouldn’t bite.

“You may change in the adjacent room, but be quick. We still have 15 minutes with headmaster before the sorting starts.”

“I don’t have to be sorted again, do I?”

“Sorry, Harry, but you have to. It’s the rule.” said Dumbledore, “I remember you mentioned Gryffindor Tower, you are a Gryffindor right?”

Harry nodded eagerly.

“Well, if you are a true Gryffindor in your heart, you don’t need to worry about sorting at all.”

=======

Two hours later.

Harry remained at the gate when other first years were sorted. Dippet had told him he would be introduced and sorted after the speech. He would look stupid if remaining in front of the hall alone.

Besides, he really needed time for himself now. The shock for arriving in 1940s in the first place had melt down, turning into anxiety that grew stronger and stronger. He imagined himself eventually grew in this timeline and finally meeting Ron and Hermione fifty years later. How could he even face them then.

Harry couldn’t help picturing himself being 62, old and fragile, maybe even in wheels, waving Ron and Hermione goodbye in the Platform 9 and 3/4.

No, they wouldn’t believe him or recognize him at all. In their world, Harry Potter would be mysteriously missing forever, Ron and Hermione would never know the old, weird fool living next door was their childhood friend.

Or he should be a game-keeper of Hogwarts, just like Hagrid, so he could watch them going school, growing up and graduate. Those thoughts pulled Harry deeper in frustration, then he realized the position was already taken.

 _Probably they wouldn’t mind another caretaker in the castle_. Or was it possible that it was Filch actually another fake identity of his? He could just play Squib quite well. And that would probably be another reason why Filch hated students in guts, because he went insane after all those years hiding and trying go back… and yes, if it was Filch, he could hardly grow intimate with anyone…

“ - Would you please come front, Mr. Granger?”

Harry’s train of thoughts was dragged back immediately. It was lucky because the thoughts of being Filch were too horrifying. He didn’t realize he was trembling before he started walking forward. Trying hard not to be tripped by the oversized robe, he felt gaze of the whole world resting upon him.

Dippet was sympathetic about his story (that he made up with Dumbledore). He nodded nervously to the headmaster. At least he did not miss sorting this time because of a flying Fort.

And soon all he could see was the black inside of the hat.

A long silence.

He waited nervously for the whisper, but nothing happened.

 _What’s wrong._ He thought in horror.

He remembered vaguely the horrible thoughts he had during his first sorting, he was so afraid that he wouldn’t be chosen by the hat at all, that he would sit there for ages and the hat kept silence.

Well, this was exactly how a nightmare came true.

Just as he drowning in horror, the hat finally spoke.

“These days are hard for a hat, you know.” The hat, _literally sighed_ in his head. “First they want you to sing, one song for each year, and it has to be _new_.”

 _You are not a very good singer though._ Horrified as he was, Harry still felt a little amused.

“…so I spent my whole year to come up with a new song.” The hat continued. “And of course, sorting. Sometimes these young minds are asking for ridiculous things. Last year I had a kid who wanted to enter Gryffindor, just because he hates his Slytherin cousins.”

Harry thought of himself immediately, only he wasn’t trying to run away from cousins.

“And now they want you to work overload and thrust you on a head with an Occlumency barrier as thick as Diagon Alley’s brick.”

_Wait, what?_

_What does that mean? Are you talking about me? And what barrier?_

“I know you are listening, child. It’s not good fooling around with an old hat. Would you please lower your Occlumency barrier, I can’t sort you if I can’t see through your mind.” The hat sounded weary. Harry could hear its whisper clearly, but his mind was utterly confused as if in fog.

_Wait, exactly what barrier? I don’t even know what that mean!_

Bewildered and horrified, Harry shifted uncomfortably on the stool. He could hear curious around the hall. He tried to scream in his mind as loud as he could, to communicate with the hat, but the hat remained silence, _the hat couldn’t hear him_ …

Then-

“Fine. Not a good idea fooling an old hat, child. If you don’t want to drop your barrier, there’s really nothing I can do.” The hat sighed again, “Well, Slytherin this year has the fewest first-years, so it’s better be -”

_Wait! No!_

“SLYTHERIN!”

Pulling the hat off, Harry glared at it.

The hat didn’t just put him into _Slytherin_ randomly, did it?

Feeling nauseated and utterly bewildered, he didn’t even notice the unusual silence after his sorting. There supposed to be applause, at least from his own house.

He was so doomed.

=======

Dumbledore, on the other hand, wasn’t entirely astonished at the result of sorting.

The boy was clearly a Gryffindor by personality. But some facts about him said something else.

One would be the boy’s ability speaking to snakes. He spoke to one just in front of him. Unwillingly, he recalled his first meeting with Tom Riddle in Wool’s orphanage.

Considering the ability of Parseltongue and the fact that the boy had his hands on a private possession of Riddle’s (as private as a dairy), it was highly possible that the boy was a descendant in Riddle family. Maybe Riddle had a daughter, who married into Potter family and had a son named Harry…

But the boy didn’t recognize Riddle as his grandfather, _maybe something happened in the family_ …

The other was the unusual Occlumency barrier in the boy’s mind.

Dumbledore had never seen such a thing before. When he tried Legilimency on him, all he could see was an endless, dark wall, stretching into heaven and abyss, wrapped the boy’s mind entirely. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t penetrate.

There’s no way for a child in his age to develop such seamless Occlumency barrier. Someone else had done it, Riddle himself maybe. But that would mean the boy’s time-travelling was planned, which couldn’t explain the boy’s ignorance to the whole thing. Not to mention how risky it was sending a mere child back in time.

Dumbledore hadn’t completely excluded the possibility that the boy was in fact a spy from Grindelwald. The fact that the boy’s appearance broke the ward was quite alarming. Although the few spells he casted when he saw the boy revealed nothing suspicious-no glamour, no influence from Polyjuice Potion, he couldn’t afford to be imprudent in such a time of turbulence.

But then again, if the boy was from Grindelwald’s side, what was all the fuss about Chamber of Secrets. Gellert never seemed to be interested in the castle’s secrets.

Dumbledore felt he was in a storm of puzzles, with most important pieces swirling in the air, yet he couldn’t catch a glimpse, not to mention putting them together. He could only observe, for now.

He did so, observing from distance as Tom Riddle approached the boy in question.

If he’d ever become headmaster as the boy said, he’d definitely get himself the Pensieve and make a good use of it.


	3. Talking to Snake(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for comments and kudos! 
> 
> I guess I have no self control. I wrote this when I should be working.  
> Warnings! I'm not a native speaker, and this is my first fanfic ever and first fanfic in English ever.  
> If you see any spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, awkward expressions,  
> don't hesitate to tell me, so I can improve.
> 
> Last 2 chapters are only a warm-up,  
> let's get the story really started.

Harry woke up to a soft hiss and a forked tongue on his face the next day.

He had completely forgotten the snake he brought in. It must have slipped out of his pocket and somehow found its way to his pillow. Its golden eyes gleamed in the dim light. Harry couldn’t help staring in fascination.

Last night was a blur. After sorting, Harry settled at the very end of Slytherin table, wanted to flee badly the moment he sat down. Food appeared from nowhere on the table and he found himself lost appetite entirely for the first time in a Hogwarts feast.

“Granger, right?” a raven-haired boy who sat next to him asked. His eyes were a color of smokey grey.

“Yes. Harry Granger.” Harry replied. Uncomfortably, he noticed a few students around were looking at him with curiosity.

“Orion Black.” the boy nodded to him in an arrogant way. “Professor Slughorn told us about a potion master once, Hector-something-Granger, are you related to him?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Harry tried to recall the story he made up with Dumbledore, “My father was a muggle, my mother a muggle-born witch. I don’t think I’m related to any wizarding family.”

To his surprise, the atmosphere around the table suddenly changed.

“So you are a Mudblood then.” came a drawling voice.

Harry gaped. The insulting name, which scandalized the whole Gryffindor team, fell so easily from lips of the voice’s owner. Even knowing he was not what he was accused of, he felt smaller, _lesser_. He couldn’t help wondering if this was how Hermione felt, being called _that_.

Now if he looked at the voice’s owner closely, he could find some familiar features, a pointed, pale face, blonde hair…

“You are Malfoy, aren’t you?” said Harry.

“Good to know Malfoy’s name still recognizable for a Mudblood.” replied Malfoy, lazily. _Draco’s grandfather maybe._ _He was equally annoying as his grandson._

“You’d better stop calling me _that_.” said Harry, as calmly as he could. He didn’t really care about being called a Mudblood, but the thoughts of Hermione somehow fueled him. A grandfather Malfoy calling him Muldblood now and there’s going to be a grandson Malfoy calling his friend Mudblood someday in the future. It felt like defending his friend from distance, a distance in time.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Your opinion doesn’t matter here, _Mudblood_.” said Malfoy, in an annoyingly casual way. He wasn’t even looking at Harry now. He seemed to lose all interest in him once knowing his blood status. Malfoy turned to Black to continue their conversation about something happened in summer, as if Harry never existed.

Because his opinion really didn’t matter at all, he’s (although not really) from a muggle family, lowest ranking in Wizarding world.

 _Be calm_. Harry warned himself. _Not a good idea loosing temple in the first day._

But it was stupid, judged by one’s family origin. It’s not like something he could choose, or something he could change. Harry felt he started to understand Hermione for the first time. The bushy haired girl, always so independent, determined and hard-working. But if considering her future in the this world, that was probably the only thing she could do. Unlike Malfoy, whose parents were influential and wealthy, or Ron, who had a whole big family giving him advice and supporting him. All Hermione had was herself, and that’s all she was relying on. Taking every effort to learn as much as she could, fighting hard against the prejudice towards her. _What a girl_.

Harry blinked. The thought of his friends hurt him. Tears threatened to well in his eyes, he had to blink them away.

Harry looked around, those students who were eyeing him curiously had returned to their own conversations now. Yes, being ignored, that’s what he wanted, and something not entirely alien to him. He had that a lot when going to primary school with Dudley. He didn’t particularly like it, but that’s something he could handle.

So he remained silence, until Tom bloody Riddle came.

=======

The little snake blinked to Harry. Its existence was oddly comforting. Harry admired its beautiful golden eyes and smooth black scales, then he recalled he had to return the snake to Forbidden Forest.

“ _Too bad I have to send you back_.” Harry sighed.

“ _You don’t have to…massster…_ ” the snake whispered, “ _You look lonely…I can keep you accompany…_ ”

Harry had to admit the snake had a point. He’s not allowed to grow too intimate with any human beings, he probably couldn’t make any friend in this snake den anyway. But he could at least have a real snake as a pet, a pet who was not a prejudiced bastard, _a pet he could actually talk to._

Besides, the way that snake already calling him _massster_ made him feel he had a responsibility to it now.

“ _I guess that works, yes._ ” he spread his palm to the snake, allowing it to slide on. “ _Keep yourself hidden, would you? Snakes are not allowed as pet here._ ”

“ _Sssure, massster…_ ” the snake hissed contently.

And now Harry looked around his dormitory properly for the first time. Unlike dormitories in Gryffindor’s tower, sunshine would never reach Slytherin’s dungeon. It’s dark in the room, other boys were still sleeping. A clock on the neighboring nightstand suggested it was half past six in the morning.

 _Fate never favored me, a_ _s if my life was not screwed up enough._ Harry thought to himself when he knew who his other roommates were last night. He had to share a room with Black and Malfoy, and other two beds belonged to Duncan Crabbe and Lennon Goyle. Harry suspected that the two bulky boys were actually Malfoy’s family heritage, they were both as overweight as their descendants and looked even dumber.

Feeling unable to fall asleep again, Harry put his snake down, climbed out of his bed and dressed. It was still early, he could take his time. Maybe going to library would be a good choice. He needed to get a knowledge about what had happened and what had not before he ruined this time line.

Knowing Hermione had a habit of morning reading before breakfast, he speculated the library probably opened at a very early time. Without making any noise, he carefully sneaked out of his dormitory.

“ _Are you going to follow me_.” he noticed the snake slid along with him.

“ _Yesss…where massster goesss, I go…_ ” the snake whispered.

“ _That’s very nice of you,_ ” Harry offered it a hand “ _Here, in my pocket, or I’ll step on you._ ”

Then he headed to the library, feeling less dreadful knowing he was not alone.

=======

Being the first in the library was, odd.

Harry guessed the name Granger had a magical influence on him. Being called Granger the second day, he’d already got himself into _the library_. Who’d ever call Hermione a Mudblood again, he’d tell them to fuck off, the name Granger itself had magic in it…

Although there was no one else in the library, Harry still picked the furthest seat, in case anyone else caught him bringing a snake to the library. He put his snake on the table, hided it behind a pile of books and started to browse a big pile of Daily Prophet.

“ _Do you happened to be able to read?_ ” Harry asked when his snake seemed to be interested in those newspapers.

“ _No…they are_ _doodle_ _sss to usss…_ ” a forked tongue slipped out, “ _and tassste no good…_ ”

“ _These are about a dark wizard-Grindelwald._ ” amused, he took the newspaper nearest him and spread it on the table, “ _Reports about his followers’ attack in other countries, but we don’t need to fear him._ ” he grinned, “ _Dumbledore will defeat him, in a few years._ ”

Harry found it hard to develop real fear to a villain who he knew would be defeated soon. However, Daily Prophet spoke otherwise. Although most attacks happened in other countries of European continent, it seemed Grindelwald’s power had penetrated into Britain and caused panic in the public. Hogwarts taking security measures was one of the evidences. Harry wondered if it was what it was like when Voldemort was in power.

“ _Are there really wards in Forbidden Forest?_ ” Harry recalled conversation with Dumbledore yesterday, “ _Are they working for animals too?_ ”

“ _I never know…I’m too sssmall to get far. It’ss sssafer for me…in the cassstle…_ ”

“ _I guess so. You are a baby snake then. How large can you grow?_ ”

The snake didn’t answer, but Harry’s attention was already drawn by something else.

It was an entire page reporting a muggle air raid. A giant photo of destroyed buildings was demonstrated in front page. Unlike other photos in Daily Prophet, that photo was still, and dead.

 _World War_ _Ⅱ_. Harry recalled. This 1942 he was in, was a time when World War Ⅱ took place, a time when Grindelwald was in power, a time when the Chamber of Secrets was going to be opened. A time of turbulence indeed.

It was when his train of thought was dragged back by an unexpected visitor.

“You have a habit of an old man, Granger, reading newspapers even before breakfast.” came an amused voice, “and a particular pet.”

Harry whipped around and stared in horror. It was Tom bloody Riddle.

=======

Tom Riddle seemed to be a decent person, was Harry’s first impression.

The elder boy was much taller than Harry. His hair was jet-black as Harry’s but combed neatly, with casual curls falling on his forehead. He had a high cheekbone and a pair of dark brown eyes, perfectly handsome in a classic way.

“Please follow me, I will lead you to our common room.” said Riddle, he gently gestured Harry to follow him, occasionally looked back to see whether Harry kept up with him.

No questions about his blood status, polite and considerate enough. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

So this was Riddle then, the very reason for him being here.

Harry had a conflicting feeling towards him. A little angry because he (his diary) dragged him all the way into a different timeline without explanation-actually mostly at himself for entering without consideration-but still, Riddle in this time was innocent. He had no idea about what his diary had done.

Harry had been looking forward to finally meeting him in person, but when he really did, he could hardly tell how he felt about him, neither could he do nothing or ask. He could only keep himself down and maybe, observe first.

Nothing until he knew the elder boy better. Then, maybe he would try to find the diary.

Riddle would be the key to all his puzzles, after all.

=======

The said boy leaned in to check the newspaper in Harry’s hand.

“Are you interested in muggle’s mass weapon? I thought you are from the muggle world.”

“It’s just…I just happened to…” Harry stuttered, had no idea why he suddenly became nervous.

“I see, I encountered one myself. Not an entire pleasant experience, I’d say.”

“You went through one of these air attacks?”

“Yes, the Blitz. It was close to my orphanage, we had to hide into shelter. Two kids died because of infection,” said Riddle, “Weren't you supposed to be there too? I thought you lived in London before.”

 _Oh right! The Blitz...Damn!_ He’d forgotten all the history about World War Ⅱ.

“I wasn’t there until July. I’ve been living with my aunt and uncle since I was a baby, until I turned 11, when my parents came back to the country and took me to London.”

They said the best lie was between truth and lie. Harry was way too familiar with the “living with relatives and being abused” story and came up with it immediately. He admired himself for his quick mind at that moment.

“Why weren’t your parents with you?”

“Grindelwald’s after them. They put me - and my relatives - under loads of protection spells, said I’d be safe, I don’t have to remember who they are if they never come back.”

Harry was almost astonished at himself. It seemed he wasn’t entirely terrible at lying after all.

“I’m really sorry about your parents.” said Riddle, softly, “It must be devastating. Finally meeting your parents in years, but orphaned again too soon.”

Harry didn't answer and avoided his gaze. A long silence fell between them. Harry wondered why Riddle suddenly became interested in him. He was nothing special. Just an ordinary orphan who was lucky enough not to be in an orphanage. And Riddle, who just mentioned his orphanage - 

_His orphanage?_

"Wait, your orphanage? Do you happened to - "

" - to be an orphan? Yes, Harry. I don't have a family either."

The older boy didn't seem to be offended. On the contrary, a small smile tugged at his lips. 

"My mother died just after I was born. My father…I have no idea where my father is,” said Tom, emotionlessly. "I was born in that place, grew up there; I still need to go back there every summer."

"I had to go back to the Dursleys in the summer break too," Harry whispered, "I mean, when I was in Muggle boarding school." he added hastily.

“My aunt and uncle weren’t treating me well. I had to do all the chores but never had enough food. I had to wash their car on my twelfth birthday, with my cousin eating ice cream and laughed at me by my side. I'd rather be in an orphanage.”

Riddle chuckled.

"Oh, Harry, the orphanage is no better," said the older boy, seemed to be amused, "we have chores to do too. There were too many kids to look after, and they just didn't have enough matrons. Their budget was pretty tight. I remember one freezing winter, all we had was porridge - frozen porridge - I could even cut it and carry it around. Thar’s all the food I had for one day.”

"At least that's something solid," said Harry, found himself smiling back, "I had canned soup for supper; it was basically water." 

Sometimes it’s odd how people got along so quickly, as long as they found something in common with each other, especially the tragic life they shared wasn’t commonly seen. With Ron and Hermione, Harry usually avoided his family situation. There was always sympathy – Ron would go red and Hermione would try to hug – it was actually awkward, for Harry never wanted sympathy.

But Riddle was different. He actually knew how that felt, even joked about it. It felt good, knowing someone shared his feelings.

“It’s really nice talking to you, Riddle.” said Harry. “I’ve been, well, really nervous since yesterday. Feeling better now, thanks.”

“Glad that I helped.” Riddle grinned. “You should go to Great Hall now, for breakfast. Don’t you have morning class to attend?”

“Yeah, right.” Harry hesitated but asked anyway.

“I wonder…May I borrow some of your old text books? I have nothing with me. Not even a wand.”

“Ah I’d love to, but - ” Riddle shrugged, “I don’t have any either. There are old text books left by former students in classroom, you only need to ask the professors. I borrow mine every year.”

“Oh… OK. But don’t you need text books for your own, you know, for reviewing or something…” like Hermione always did. She would study even _after_ the examination.

“I don’t need to. I memorize them when I finish.” said Riddle, casually. “You really need to run, Harry. You have very little time for breakfast now-no, don’t worry about the newspapers-I’ll organize them for you.”

Riddle was right, he really needed to hurry. He hastily tidied the mess he made – hadn’t forgotten to take his snake with him – nodded to Riddle and turned –

“And Harry.” Riddle called out.

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell anyone you can talk to snakes.” the elder boy said, his face blank.

Paled and frozen for a second, Harry turned and fled.

He’d totally forgotten he had another big secret to hide.


	4. Pure-blood Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, because I need some time to revise the first 3 chapters.  
> Some of the dialogues (mostly with Dumbledore and sorting hat) are changed, you might want to check.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the delay, not a particular chapter though, but I'll get to a big one within next 3 updates -3-

Tom never really liked accompany of other human beings since he was little. He preferred animals, they obeyed him, understood him, never called him freak. They were better than human beings, they could tell who’s special and who’s not.

When the weather was pleasant, the orphanage would take all the kids to countryside, where most of Tom’s friends resided. Tom’s favorite were snakes, they came to him, whisper fascinating things. One of the old ones even taught Tom how to hunt.

_“Remember…little human…follow your instinct…always hide…before you ssstrike…”_

_“What is instinct?”_ Back then Tom was still too little to understand the word.

_“Instinct…isss…what your heart…screamsss…”_

=======

What his heart screamed, was entirely alien to him, when he looked into those vividly green eyes for the first time that night of new term. It was something that could be considered intimacy. Although Tom never liked intimacy with human beings, he couldn’t say he hated it at that moment.

But he took no further action, he only introduced himself and gestured the boy to follow.

 _Probably something worth to keep an eye on._ Tom thought to himself, as he led the way to Slytherin’s common room.

So when he was in library that very morning, heard the familiar whisper of snake language and saw that boy through book shelves, he couldn’t help appreciating his instinct again.

_Definitely something worth to keep an eye on_.

The ability of speaking to snakes, which was rare but mostly, inherited by blood. This very ability of Tom’s happened to be one of his few evidences that he was descended from a noble ancestor - maybe Salazar Slytherin himself - and one of most powerful weapons to keep those pureblood Slytherin’s loyalty. He never revealed this ability to anyone except for his Knights. It’s a dangerous thing to tip one’s hand too early.

_Because that was how he hid before he struck._

Neither did he share any of his disdain towards Muggles outside his inner circle. In a time when Grindelwald’s in power, despising muggles would be equivalent to declaring themselves to join the dark side, the most idiotic thing to do.

No, Tom Riddle in Hogwarts was humble, hard-working, talented but with a tragic life. The fact that he was from a muggle orphanage only helped him to build such an identity. No one would never ever relate Tom to dark things, even though he and his little gang had done plenty of nasty stuff.

No one except Dumbledore of course.

Dumbledore happened to be an exception. Tom got too excited when Dumbledore came to deliver his Hogwarts letter, to tell him that _he was special_. He didn’t stop himself from bragging his power, his ability to hurt, even dropped the bomb of his strangest talent, intended to impress. But it only alarmed the old professor. What a stupid mistake.

But not anymore. If there’s mistake, there’s always remedy. If he played his card right, it would never be too hard for him to charm his way out. There’s nothing harmful to be nice and patient anyway… The sympathetic, kind but poor Tom Riddle, he’d never missed a target when he tried to bewitch people's mind.

And that only worked even better for that boy. The orphaned boy was lonely, eager for affection, for accompany from anyone who could understand him.

Not to mention from someone who had similar experience with him.

_And that was certainly what Tom would offer._

“Don’t tell anyone you can talk to snakes.” Riddle warned out of no reason.

Or maybe there was a reason, Riddle didn’t want a second Parseltongue distract his Knights, but mostly, he knew that this would be beneficial in gaining the boy’s trust.

 _A Parseltongue_ , how curious. Didn’t that mean they were possibly related? If Tom’s current research about his parentage went to a dead end, he could still get what he wanted in a roundabout way. Search the boy’s family, there would be new discoveries.

And of course if only the boy was willing to tell. Tom was pretty sure the boy lied through most of their conversations, but his secrets only made him more excited. Under the layered disguise he would find gold, he was sure about it.

A content little smile tugged corner of his lips as the boy run away, _This boy’s secrets_ , he would coax them out. Even if he failed, he could still _force_ them out in the most extreme way…

“ _We shall see, little ssspeaker…_ ” he whispered in their shared language.

=======

Riddle was right about text books. There were plenty old ones left by former students. Although most of them were either older editions, or too worn-out to recognize the contents, it was still better than nothing.

But Harry got another problem to solve.

“Err, sir, I wonder… I still haven’t got a wand yet…” Harry gathered his courage and asked.

“Ah, Harry, I’m really sorry I don’t have spare wands to lend.” said Dumbledore, Harry could hear Malfoy sneering, “But I’ve already talked with headmaster, I believe Professor Slughorn-the head of your house-will make some arrangement before weekend.”

Seeing Harry at lost, the professor then added.

“Consider this class a demonstration, you don’t have to do homework this time, but I’ll expect the best from you next week.” The old man blinked to Harry.

“Thank you, sir.” Harry beamed, Malfoy looked indignant.

“You are welcome, now find yourself a seat.”

Harry looked around classroom, it seemed all students had already found themselves a position and a partner too, which was probably already settled in their first year. Unlike his Gryffindor classmates, who could easily get on well enough with each other, Slytherins seemed to prefer their own little gangs, like Malfoy and Black, who were basically as close as the Weasley twins.

The other half of the classroom was in a sea of yellow-Hufflepuffs. If possible they only looked even more frigid. They gathered together tightly, eyeing him, a Slytherin, vigilantly.

 _Not welcomed these days, Slytherins_. Harry sighed inwardly, blaming sorting hat for the thousandth time.

He picked the green side of the classroom, settled himself at the last table, alone. He remembered in his primary school, no one wanted to be in a team with him because they were afraid of Dudley. Well, Dudley was not here in Hogwarts, but it seemed a ghost of him had successfully separated Harry from the world again.

 _If only I can get back soon._ Harry made a wish to his borrowed old text book.

=======

Harry’s first day was a mess.

Not every professor was as kind as Dumbledore. Professor Merrythought for example, was a strict woman, who reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall a little.

“This is not an excuse that you can’t take this class properly.” said the old women, “You can still practice wand movement. Here.” 

She conjured a wooden stick and handed it to Harry.

"Use this. This class we will learn the full-body bind curse. Wand movement alone is very difficult. You can at least learn the delicate wrist movement today.”

Harry grimaced at his fake wand, never felt so stupid in his entire life. Behind him, Malfoy and Black didn’t do anything to hide their sneer.

The whole class had been a torture, especially for someone who didn’t have a wand. Professor Merrythought only spent a few minutes explaining theory. The rest of class, well, was all practical, with students grouped into pairs. Even numbered students though, Harry did his best to talk himself out of practice. He’s not going to be a defenseless target to an unfriendly Slytherin.

“Please, professor. It’s not beneficial for my partner anyway-he’d never known what it feels like being petrified.”

Professor Merrythought eyed him suspiciously. Harry swallowed.

“Well, I guess you have a point. Mr. Granger.” Luckily, she seemed to agree.

“Extra 5 inches to your homework then.”

Groaning, Harry knew he couldn’t ask for more. He retreated to his corner, concentrated on practicing “wand movement”, trying hard to ignore mocking sounds around him.

=======

Harry had been dreading for the Potions. One reason was that Potions had been his nightmare in his time, the other would be he knew he’s going to have it with _Gryffindors_.

He’d been avoiding the color of red and gold. He knew if he came across with any of them, he’d be seeking familiar faces but never be able to find any. It would only disappoint and pain him even more.

But to Harry’s surprise, Potions wasn’t that bad.

For one thing, unlike Snape, who was _always_ looking for his trouble, professor Slughorn seemed nicer. Although Harry didn’t really like him – he treated some students with preference too much– at least he wasn’t bitter to him.

“Ah, Mr. Granger.” The potion master greeted.

“Professor Dippet has mentioned your situation. We will come up with a solution before weekend, don’t worry. But you don’t have to use a wand in this class, right? You don’t need to worry about your ingredients either, we can lend you some from the store cupboard. By the way we do teamwork today. Now, find yourself a partner and sit down, boy.”

Harry blinked – avoided looking at the Gryffindor side of classroom - he was the last one entered. A dark-haired girl occupied the last table left, and strange enough - considering that students usually sat in pairs - there was also a table occupied by three.

This left him no choice but sat next to the dark-haired girl, who was burying herself in a book.

“You won’t want to work together with me, new comer.” said the girl, without even raising her head. “They said I’m too harsh to my partner.”

“Well, I’ve met loads of harsh people.” Harry shrugged, reluctant to explain that this was the last table. “Try to beat them.”

The girl finally raised her head. She wasn’t very attractive. With her dark and heavy brows and a long, pallid face, she looked quite sullen.

“Eileen Prince.” she held out a hand “you listen to my instruction then, since you are new.”

“Harry Granger.” Harry took the hand and shook it. “Always pleasure working as a minion.”

Prince didn’t respond to that but narrowed her eyes. Then both of their attention drawn by professor Slughorn.

“Alright, class.” said Slughorn “turn to page 11 of your textbook, we are brewing Sleeping Draught today. Key instructions-” he pointed his wand on the blackboard “-on the blackboard. We will have assessment today. The best group don’t have to do their homework. You still have one hour and a half. Now, off you go.”

“Get the ingredients, Granger.” Prince instructed immediately.

Prince, as she claimed herself, was indeed harsh and unbearable. It was like working with a 12-year-old Aunt Petunia, who was always telling him “Harry, do this” and “Harry, go to do that”. Unfortunately, Harry had too much experience about that.

But aside from that, Harry could see Prince was _good_ at Potions. She barely checked the textbook, her movement precise and quick. Every dice she cut was in perfect shape and size.

“Stir, Granger.” The girl said behind the steam. “ - clockwise, 3 times. Then counterclockwise.”

“But the book says 7-”

“Screw the book, you listen to me or the book?”

“You, madam.” Harry said through his teeth. He didn’t want any trouble with this girl, nor did he really care about this class. He just wanted to finish this and be alone as soon as possible.

So he obeyed. To his astonishment, he found the color turned into purple as he stirred, just as the book described.

“Step aside.” Prince pushed him away, drawing her wand. 

She whispered an incantation, which Harry was certain that it was not required in brewing. But the potion turned into dark purple immediately, even the one Hermione brewed in their first class wasn’t this perfect.

“Well, well.” Slughorn just walked past their table.

“Looks like we have a winner. Excellent work here! Prince and Granger, you don’t need to do your homework this week.” He beamed merrily to the pair. “Everyone else, an essay about key points in brewing a Sleeping Draught, and list where you did wrong. Class dismissed!”

“You are quite good, you know.” as Harry started to organize the mess on the table, Prince started. Harry gaped at her, not sure how to respond. He was exceptionally talented in Potions, neither did he ever hear any appraise from anyone about this subject. On the contrary, he was abysmal at Potions (according to Snape).

“You never splash when you added ingredients - and the amount you added was precise. The speed you stir was just right.” said Prince, “You are way better than our clumsy classmates. Not as good as me though.” She added finally.

“Well, I have brewed it once…” It was not a lie, he did already have an extra half-year education.

“I’ve never found anyone who can cooperate with me so well.” the girl continued, “They always argued and screwed up, no matter how perfect my instructions are. Congratulations, Granger, you are allowed to work with me in next class.”

“Well, thank you, I guess?” Harry hesitated, not sure how to act politely. It seemed he didn’t have any other choice anyway.

But Prince seemed content with it. She waved her wand, vanished all the mess they made all together. “You are welcome. Shall we go to dinner? I’m starving.”

Reluctantly, Harry followed her, grimaced where Prince couldn’t see. But at least he had other people to talk to now, people who wasn’t calling him Mudblood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eileen Prince was born in 1930, attended Hogwarts during 1941-1948 (according to Harry Potter wiki), so in 1942 she's exactly the same age as Harry. A happy coincidence ;-p  
> Abraxas Malfoy was born before 1936, he could be in second year too.  
> As for Orion Black, he's born in 1929, he's possible a third year though, let's assume his birthday was in December, so he would still attend Hogwarts in 1941.
> 
> There's going to be 2 more Blacks, guess who they are.
> 
> And BTW 1942.9.2 was Wednesday, so Harry's class-Transfiguration, DADA and Potions, although I switched the order of DADA and Potions


	5. Tomorrow Is Another Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Old_Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Old_Soul/pseuds/Old_Soul) for your wonderful betaing work!

It seemed that the only break the universe gave Harry, was his first week starting on a Wednesday, meaning, he had only 3 days to endure before the weekend.

The library quickly became his favorite place. He had been avoiding the Slytherin common room. The air there was heavy with tension, and he felt nervous the moment he stepped foot inside. Knowing the snake pit was not the place for him, Harry would usually duck his head and head straight for his dormitory, where he would be facing only his roommates.

Normally, Black would ignore him and do his own business, which Harry had no issue with. Malfoy on the other hand, was different. He and his two sidekicks would never miss a chance to mock his heritage or harass him.

“Watch your robe, Granger.” Malfoy bellowed snobbishly. “You just brushed my bed. I might need to wash my sheets.”

“Yes, your highness.” Harry mumbled, rolling his eyes. “As if you’ve ever washed your own sheets...”

It was usually not wise to instigate Malfoy in his territory, especially with Crabbe and Goyle in the same room. Those bulky boys were a lot like Dudley, who considered Harry to be a living, breathing, human punching bag. Luckily, Malfoy never really thought he was worth the effort to argue with. As for Crabbe and Goyle… they were never a threat as long as Harry was quick enough to get out of dodge.

Still, after his first night, Harry started to stay in the library as late as he possibly could. The library was the only place he could find peace now. It was also the only place he could talk to his snake freely without fear of discovery. The furthest corner of the library was perfect, hiding him perfectly from view with a large bookshelf in front of his desk. There were barely any visitors to his corner. He could just hide his snake - who he had decided to call Thanasis - behind books, and constantly whisper meaningless conversations. Often times, animals think in different ways than human beings, but this snake seemed to understand his loneliness.

_“You don’t interact with you own breed…” the snake started, “why?””_

_“You wouldn’t become friends with snakes who bite you - would you?”_ Harry whispered back, in the snake language. _“Same for me. They mock and push, the same thing to biting.”_

_“Why not find sssomeone…who don’t bite…”_

_“I had someone…now far away from me though.”_

_“Those who had connectionsss with you, massster…”_ the snake whispered. _“They are never far away. They are ssstill with you, in another form…”_

Harry frowned, “ _I don’t understand. How is that possible? They don’t **even** exist yet.”_

_“These connectionsss - they’re linked, across different forestss and pathss. You are never truly alone.”_

_“Thanks. Well, that’s quite comforting, I guess…”_

Sometimes, Harry really couldn’t understand his snake well, even if they shared the same language.

Harry hadn’t forgotten Riddle’s warning yet. He still occasionally met the boy in the library, who usually sat one or two shelves away from him. In fact, he met Riddle again the very night of his first day.

“Hi, Riddle. Listen, about this morning…” Harry started.

“Hello, Harry. Oh, you don’t need to worry - I won’t tell anyone.” Riddle casually smiled, a perfect angle on his lips.

“Err, about what?”

“About both your snake pet and that you _can talk to them_.”

“Well…”

“Not a bad thing to have that ability, especially in Slytherin.” Riddle continued. “But rare talent usually inspires envy, and envy engenders spite.”

“Th-that’s why you warned me?” Harry gaped. “Thanks... but I didn’t mean to show it off or anything. It has brought me trouble before…and I didn’t do it on purpose. It’s just…Thanasis is the only one I can talk with.”

“I understand, Harry, I _do_ understand.” Riddle said, softly. “I had no one to talk to when I was at the orphanage either, but I think maybe you should try to talk with your classmates.”

“Not when they are calling me Mudblood.” Harry shrugged.

“Alright, alright…sometimes Slytherins can be…well, some of them may value blood status too much…which I think -”

“-is stupid.” Harry stated sternly, “One of my best friends is a muggle-born, and she’s the smartest witch I’ve ever seen.”

“Of course. I will be honored if I can meet this friend of yours someday.” Riddle grinned to him, didn’t mind his interruption at all. “since you speak so highly of her.”

“Well, I hope I could see her again someday in the near future too. She’s…very far away from me now.”

From the look on Riddle’s face, he must have failed in hiding just how sad and lost he felt at the reminder. A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way.

“Don’t be sad. You can make new friends here.” said Riddle. “I believe you are the type of person who can survive in any situation, however hard they may be.”

=======

Tom Riddle was, well, he was truly a riddle.

Tall and handsome, friendly and charming, the top student of every one of his classes, and most of all, he seemed to have a mysterious power over the whole Slytherin house.

“Not that way, Granger.”

“Why? There’re empty seats over there.”

“That’s saved for Riddle and his friends. This way-”

Reluctantly, he followed the furiously hissing Prince to the other end of the table, which was far, far away from where he’s standing. Barely within a minute he seated himself, he saw Riddle strode in, with five other boys who – according to Prince – were all dangerous and influential.

“That one, on Riddle’s left, is Ralph Lestrange. There’s always crazy rumors running in his family - Dangerous, and unstable, the Lestrange’s.” Prince whispered. “That one, sitting opposite to Lestrange, is Reeves Rosier. Rumors say his aunt or one of his female relatives is actually a close follower of Grindelwald - An acolyte, even.”

“They are both pure-bloods?”

“Of course! They are both from the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“The Sacred what?”

“The Sacred Twenty-Eight! The most ancient and true pure-bloods. Do you have any common sense, Granger?” Harry shrugged in response. Inwardly, he really hoped the Potters were not on that sacred list.

“Anyway, Perry Nott and Edward Avery there - the ones on the right side of Rosier – are also from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And Blake Mulciber, oh I don’t want to do anything with him involved. Lots of cruel things he has done over the years - You should really see those scenes. He tortured and killed animals for fun.”

“But they seem to respect Riddle,” commented Harry. “If they are all as dangerous, cruel and pureblooded as they seem, why would they want to even be friends with Riddle, much less respect him the way they do? Riddle isn’t a pureblood, is he?”

“Oh, it’s hard to say, but it can only be because Riddle’s heritage is even more superior than theirs.”

“What heritage? I thought he was from a muggle orphanage.” Harry asked, giving in to his curiosity.

“No one really knows his heritage - maybe those ones know - but never a definite answer.” Prince whispered in a dramatic way, “it must be a truly noble one. A blood-line that makes the rest of the Twenty-Eights pale in comparison.”

“ _Or_ it’s only because he’s very outstanding.” Harry shrugged, losing his interest already, “you know - being prefect, the top of his classes and all that”

“Oh, Granger, so naïve,” said Prince, snorting. “No one can wield such power in _Slytherin_ just because they have a way with exams.”

=======

Once one got used to Prince’s way of bossing around, that girl was actually fine to deal with. She wasn’t a fan of the library, and preferred the dungeon for her little potion experiments.

“Professor Slughorn has given me permission to use the classroom after hours,” she announced proudly when he asked, “I am one of his favorites - the _Prince_ in the potion classroom.”

“Shouldn’t you prefer the title princess?” Harry asked in amusement. It was interesting to see the girl alive with such enthusiasm.

“No, I don’t have the look for a princess. Prince is more my thing.” The girl shook her head, sternly. “Do you always go to the library right after classes? I hardly see you in the common room. If you come to socialize, we can have a round of Gobstones, you know.”

“Thanks, but – homework, you know.” said Harry. “Hogwarts’ standard and schedule are harsh, and I’m not used to those yet. I… I need the library to concentrate.”

He was lying of course. He didn’t have that much of a burden for homework at all, (courtesy of Dumbledore and Slughorn) but he did have other research to do, mostly about the mysteries of his time-traveling adventure and all of the confusion caused by that.

One of the mysteries at the fore-front of his mind was that Occ-something-barrier that he apparently had according to the stupid, damn sorting hat.

Before he dove into another pile of books, the first person he sought out was Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore? Excuse me.” Harry made his way to Dumbledore when his first transfiguration class - which was luckily the first class of the day - ended.

“Anything I can help, my boy?” Dumbledore nodded to him and eyed the whole classroom meaningfully. They both waited until the last student left the classroom.

“It’s about the sorting last night.” Harry hastily started “The hat - it said I have some barrier – Occlu…sorry I don’t quite remember the exact word.”

“Occlumency barrier?”

“Yes! That!”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and seemed to be deep in thought before he started to explain.

“Occlumency, Harry, is the art that prevents someone from accessing your thoughts and feelings. It can protect both your mind and your secrets.” Dumbledore explained. After a long pause, he continued, “well, that explains the exceptionally long time you took for sorting. It seems even the sorting hat couldn’t penetrate your barrier…”

“It said it couldn’t see through…and it couldn’t sort me…” realization dawned upon Harry. slowly. ”because it couldn’t read my mind, it didn’t know what quality I have…so it couldn’t sort me.”

“That must be it, Harry. I dare to say it’s the first time the hat faced such dilemma.” a little amused, Dumbledore then asked. “But why did the hat decide it should be Slytherin?”

Harry answered dryly, “It said Slytherin had fewest first-years.”

Dumbledore had unmistakably, laughed at that.

“Sir, it’s not funny! I…”

“Ah, Harry. Isn’t that a good thing?” Dumbledore blinked, trying hard to hide his amusement. “You get to experience a different life in a…well, very different house. Besides, with the barrier you have, Harry, your secrets are hidden so well that no one can dig them out. Unless you spill them yourself, of course.”

Dumbledore’s answer left Harry with more questions. Considering this barrier of his had tossed him into an even worse situation in the first place, Harry’s feelings toward it was hardly grateful.

Now the top question was “why an occlumency barrier”. Was it possibly a side-effect of time-traveling? Most of the books about mind magic seemed too thick and heavy, with abstruse words he couldn’t understand. Harry only briefly scanned one of the thin ones, not even once did he see the word “time-travel”.

‘Books about time-traveling then,’ Harry decided. ‘at least they are fewer in number.’

And that was also the most unfortunate part. Despite the amount of books in Hogwarts’ library, there were only a few about time-traveling, with some of them in restriction section. Those Harry could put a hand on provided only vague information at best, or myths and stories at worst.

But he started on them anyway, they were, after all, the only source of information he had.

=======

Although it’d been only half a week, Harry grew more and more anxious. The anxiety must have got on him physically: he started to constantly feel a lump in his chest since his first day, and it only became worse each morning. It started to block his airways and _ached_ , even causing black spots in his vision occasionally. Harry blamed it on his homesickness. Sometimes psychological stress did lead to physical discomfort.

 _Soon, it would be the weekend,_ and he could finally get some rest. Also maybe he could finally get his school supplies – _his wand_ , mostly.

Everything would be better by then. Harry believed so.

=======

Friday night, Harry remained in the library. Most students would gather around in the common room, staying late and celebrating the end of a tough week, but not Harry. There was no place for him in Slytherin’s common room.

“ _This one is useless, Thanasis.”_ Harry sighed to his snake after finishing a thin book titled _My Love in 300 B.C._ Knowing it wouldn’t understand, he complained anyway. “ _A cliché love story written by a crazy man. Even Lockhart makes a better story than his, and all his books are all made-up._ ”

“ _You keep mentioning strange wordsss, massster._ ” The snake whispered “ _What are they? Are they deliciouss?_ ”

“ _Lockhart? It’s only the name of a narcissistic, blonde idiot._ ” Harry snorted “ _I bet he tastes like shampoo and hair gel._ ”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” came an amused voice.

“Hi, Riddle.” Harry greeted casually. After their conversation the other day, he felt easier speaking Parseltongue in front of him. The cat was out of the bag anyway.

“What are you reading?” he leaned in to read the title. “ _My Love in 300 B.C._ Really, Harry? Romances? It never occurred to me boys at your age would be interested in… well… _love stories_.”

Harry blushed furiously.

“I-It’s…I’m just really bored…” he stuttered.

“Then I hope this will excite you.” Riddle smiled. “Professor Slughorn requires your presence, seem to be some arrangements about your school supplies.”

=======

“Come in, Tom, my boy! And Mr. Granger.” Slughorn greeted merrily from an armchair in front of the fireplace.

“Good evening, professor,” said Riddle. “You are expecting Harry?”

“Both of you, actually.” Slughorn waved his hand. “I just got the permission from the headmaster. We both are very concerned about the issue of your school supplies, Mr. Granger.”

He stood up, searched his robe for a while, then pulled out a golden key and a thick envelope from his pocket.

“This,” Slughorn state proudly holding out the golden key, “is a portkey - very hard to get an authorized one these days. Thanks to my dear friend Francis in Department of Magical Transportation - and Albus helped a little, too – this will activate at 9am tomorrow morning, sending you boys to the Leaky Cauldron directly.”

“Boys?” Riddle asked.

“Yes, Tom. You need to accompany Mr.Granger on his shopping trip in Diagon Alley. Here’s his list for school supplies.” said Slughorn, handing the key and envelope to Riddle. “In fact, the headmaster asked me to go, but you see…I need to have lunch with dear Raymond, former editor of the Daily Prophet. You understand, right Mr. Riddle?”

“I understand, sir. I’ll carry out my duty as prefect.” said Riddle, in a prim and polite way.

“Very well,” agreed Slughorn in obvious relief. “The portkey will activate again at 5pm sharp to bring you back to my office. One day is enough for shopping, right? And Tom, you are familiar with the Hogwarts Orphan Fund. There’s also a letter for Gringotts in the envelope. I was told Mr. Granger was left nothing…so here’s the key to the vault. Make sure everything is within budget. Any questions?”

“No, sir. Everything will be fine.” Riddle answered, before Harry could say a single word.

“That’s good! Oh, would you look at the time! It’s almost curfew. You’d better get going, boys,” suggested Slughorn, dismissing them already. “Have a good time tomorrow.”

“Good night, sir.” Riddle replied.

“Thank you, sir.” parroted Harry - his first and last words in Slughorn’s office.

=======

There was barely any people left in the common room when they returned.

“We’ll meet here 8:50 tomorrow.” stated Riddle firmly. “Don’t be late, or I’ll have to go to Diagon Alley by myself.”

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” said Harry, “I’ve been waiting for this for all week.”

Tomorrow, he would have his wand back. _Tomorrow_.

“Are you bringing your snake too? You seem to bring it everywhere you go.”

“No, Thanasis can stay,” Harry said, “besides, if I lost it, it would never find its way back.”

“Good, see you tomorrow then.”

“See you.” Harry beamed, feeling way too excited to go to bed. He even failed to contain himself down when he made his way to his bed, but compared with his joy, his roommates’ annoyance at a little noise was negligible for him to care.

“Come back this late again, Mudblood.” started a sleepy voice which resembled Malfoy’s, “We’ll lock you out of the dorm.”

“Alright, alright. Whatever you want, your majesty.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry grimaced in the dark. Even Malfoy’s sour attitude couldn’t truly get him down however.

_You just wait there, Malfoy. Tomorrow I’ll have my wand._

Tomorrow then.

Tomorrow, at least one thing would be back to normal.


	6. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To [EnjeruTantei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjeruTantei/pseuds/EnjeruTantei): Thank you for the beta work and all the teaching!

Diagon Alley was exactly how Harry remembered. It never failed to amaze Harry every time how those bricks of Leaky Cauldron moved away and revealed the wonderland of magic. Showered in the morning sunshine, everything was shining and glittering merrily. Various types of shops decorated with vividly colored signs and shiny show windows sharply contrasted with the dim, shabby little pub they’d just left, practically shouting for people’s attention. It was only 9 am in the morning but the street was already crowded, with people sipping coffee in an open-air café nearby and shop owners bowing to welcome their first customers. Harry could see a fat woman waved her wand to organize her exhibiting goods in the show window. It was a chorus of lives and magic.

A soft chuckle next to Harry waked him up. His face burnt with embarrassment - he must have made a quite stupid face, but he was too excited to bring himself to care.

“Wand first!” Harry grinned widely to Riddle, who was looking at him with amusement.

“You are acting like a five-year-old now.” said Riddle. “Not the first time coming here for you, is it?”

“The third time, actually.” One time with Hagrid, one time with the Weasleys.

“Then I probably don’t need to give you a tour.”

“Hard to say. Lots have changed.”

“How come?” Riddle inquired, “Last time you were here was probably within the past year.”

“No. Lots have changed, with _time_.” Harry laughed at the confused look in Riddle’s face. Leaving Riddle with... a riddle ironically, he strode forward before the other boy could catch up.

“You look a lot more cheerful now, you know.” Riddle caught up with him in a few steps, falling in line beside him, “Last week, every time I saw you in the library, you were like a dead man walking, occasionally making quiet, little sounds to your snake. It’s kind of creepy.”

“Was I? Maybe because I am in the _snake house_.” Harry replied, “I’m always this cheerful, even when my muggle relatives forbid me dinner.”

“So you are saying your house mates are even worse than your muggle relatives? Listen, Harry, some of them may not be friendly, but I have to say you are not doing a good job attempting to connect with them either.”

“I said, not when they are calling me Mudblood,” said Harry, correcting him sternly.

“You are not giving them a chance to know you.” said Riddle, “And you are not giving yourself a chance to know them either.”

“Let’s just say Slytherin is not my place, alright? Ollivander’s is this way, Riddle.” Harry dragged him, refusing to continue the current topic.

“We are going to Gringotts first, Harry,” said Riddle, dragging him in another direction. At Harry’s momentary confused silence, Riddle continued, “What are you going to pay with?”

Harry froze for a moment. Right, he’d totally forgotten he didn’t have a single Knut to his name at the moment.

“Sorry, I forgot,” Harry mumbled. He ducked his head with embarrassment, following closely behind Riddle’s steps this time.

=======

“We are here to withdraw from the Hogwarts Orphan Fund.” Riddle seemed to be familiar with this type of business. He found a goblin without any difficulties, handing the goblin the letter and a golden key – not the Portkey from before– and spoke in a tone that was very official and business-like.

“Very well, everything seems to be in order.” After carefully examining the key, the goblin retreated to back of the counter. He was back soon, accompanied by another goblin.

“The vault for the Orphan Fund only allows an authorized goblin to enter.” Riddle explained to Harry, “I’ve been using the fund since I was eleven.”

“Lapin will lead you to the vault,” the first goblin introduced.

“Didn’t expect to see you again within a month, Mr. Riddle,” said the other goblin, eyeing them suspiciously.

“We are here for Mr. Granger’s expenses.” said Riddle. “Actually, it is all stated in the letter.”

“Yes, yes, with the war going on, this kind of shit will only become more and more common. Stupid grown-ups fighting, leaving kids orphaned alone. Who knows what you humans want from this meaningless war. I’d say those with us goblins were far more glorious, unlike these trivia matters you humans are fighting over.” The goblin smiled viciously, “Follow me, would you?”

Riddle nodded to Harry, gesturing him to follow. Harry hastily did.

=======

The vault of Hogwarts was deeper than his own. Harry thought so when the cart finally stopped at a solemn-looking door after going through hundreds of twisting in the tunnel.

“Step aside. Students are not allowed to enter.” said Lapin.

Harry watched as the goblin opened the door with the golden key Riddle had handed him prior. The door opened smoothly, revealing large piles of gold and silver in the magnificent space. They must have weighted tons.

“Donations from the most noble families,” Riddle whispered next to him in explanation, “I know you hate Malfoy and Black. But the fact is, the Malfoy and Black families are amongst the most generous donators. I hope you never forget the fact that you – _we_ – can study at Hogwarts because of them.”

“How do you…” Harry gaped at the older boy, trailing off in surprise. _Know that I hated Malfoy and Black?_ were the unsaid words.

“I know _everything_ happened in Slytherin house.” Riddle whispered into his ear, “Know that you didn’t have any proper conversation with any of your classmates in the past week. Ah, maybe except that girl – what’s her name again? Eileen Prince, right?” Harry suppressed the urge to shiver.

“Is this how Slytherin prefects work? Sounds like stalkers to me.” Harry frowned, shifting slightly away from Riddle.

“Oh, but I don’t need to stalk,” said Riddle “Words about your strange behavior has spread everywhere. No one ever acted as much like a lonely wolf as you have, Harry. Why do you stay in library by yourself so much? You are clearly not a hard-working type. Is there just the perfect place to avoid your house mates, or am I wrong?”

“I have research to do,” Harry was avoiding Riddle’s gaze now. He hated to admit but Riddle was right about it. Harry was only doing his time-travel research half-heartedly —he was never the hard-working type— the library was only for his peace and isolation.

“Well, Harry…” No matter what Riddle was about to say, it was lost to time as just in that moment, Lapin came back with a small pouch of coins.

“There you go.” said Lapin. “Expense for one term. Don’t waste even a single Knut.”

“Thank you, sir.” Receiving the heavy bag of money from the goblin, Harry now wanted badly to return to the ground.

=======

Riddle remained silence on their way back. When they finally saw the sunshine through the crystal ceiling of Gringotts again, Harry couldn’t help sighing in relief.

“Well, Harry…”

“Not that again, Riddle.” he groaned, not wanting to broach the subject again.

“I’m trying to say, we can go to buy you a wand now.” Riddle only chuckled, as if he knew that Harry would react in such a way, “Time to go to Ollivanders.”

He turned and flashed a smile to Harry. Gentle light went through threads of his raven hair, his eye lashes casting shadows on his cheekbone. His eyes, Harry noticed, was a color of dark brown, with a depth he couldn’t see the end of.

“T—true, Ollivanders then.” Harry stuttered, having no clue why he suddenly felt nervous. Maybe it’s because the mention of his wand.

But most of all, _His_ wand. Finally.

=======

The fifty-years younger Ollivander hadn’t gone completely grey-headed yet, unlike how harry had known him, but like Dumbledore, wrinkles had already climbed onto his face. The one thing that hadn’t changed was his pale eyes, glittering like moon in the dim light in his store.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted softly. “Mr. Riddle, good to see you again. Thirteen-and-a-half inches, yew, right? And you are -”

“Harry Granger,” Harry answered nervously, those silver eyes never failed to freak him out.

“Harry is here to purchase a wand,” Riddle added.

“Very well. Mr. Granger, which is your wand arm?”

“I’m right-handed,” seeing the man pulling out his tape measure again, Harry interrupted. “Err, Mr. Ollivander? I think we can skip the measuring. My old wand is phoenix-feather cored, I guess those work for me.”

The old man gave him a sharp glance instantly.

“Your old wand? Where did you purchase it? Definitely not from here, right? I have no memory of such a visit.”

“No. My mother… bought it while in another country, as a birthday gift.” Harry swallowed nervously. “But it really served me well.”

“If you haven’t tried any others, you wouldn’t know which would serve you _best_ _,_ ” Ollivander insisted.

Sighing inwardly, Harry allowed the measuring— which already started on its own —to continue. Not a good idea arguing with the stern man, who seemed to be overly enthusiastic when it came to wands.

“But if you say so, Mr. Granger, let’s start with phoenix-feather-cored ones. Here, maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try it.”

Harry picked up the wand and waved - nothing special happened - Ollivander took it back immediately.

“Not every phoenix feather, see?” said Ollivander, quite smugly. “Now try this, Beechwood and dragon heart string. Nine inches. Nice and flexible.”

Harry barely gave it a wave, the wand was snatched by Ollivander again.

“No, no. Not this one. Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches. Try this.”

 _So the history repeated itself_. Harry thought wearily as he tried and tried. He couldn’t risk to tell Ollivander that his wand was 11 inches long, phoenix feather core and made of holly. How could he explain to the man that he already knew which wand would be his? And now that he thought about it, his wand probably hadn’t been made by this point of time.

“If this one won’t work, then I don’t know what to do with you,” Ollivander sighed, “Try this, 11 inches and phoenix feather core, holly.”

_This was it! This was his wand!_

Suppressing his excitement, Harry carefully kept his face straight. He picked up his wand carefully, feeling a sudden warmth in his fingers, and—

Light. Brighter and warmer than the first time. A distant song in his ears. His heart pounding furiously to the strong reaction. The feeling of a lump in his chest – which he had kept ignoring for the past few days – suddenly rose to life, becoming even more unbearable. It blocked his airways completely. Agony consumed him all of sudden.

Seconds, minutes, or maybe years, it lasted. Then it ended all of sudden like it came, left Harry all pale and trembling, desperate for fresh air.

Mr. Ollivander, however, didn’t notice Harry’s questionable health condition.

“Oh, brilliant! Very good. Well, well, well... just as you said, phoenix feather…and see how much power you ignited! You are a very powerful wizard, Mr. Granger, with great potential… and how curious…”

“Excuse me, I need some air.” Harry stumbled to the door, now panting slightly in an effort to appear normal.

“Harry, are you alright?” Being closer to Harry, Riddle noticed that something was wrong.

“No, it’s just…” Harry hesitated, didn’t want the other boy know about his current state. He gathered his remaining strength. “Mr. Ollivander, I’ll buy that one. I’m sure that’s my wand… so would you..?”

“Of course, of course,” said Ollivander, still in fascination, “Sometimes the first interaction with the right wand can be overwhelming, especially for someone with such potential…”

Ignoring the old man, Harry stepped out of the store. He rested his hands on his knees, breathing fresh air outside of the store greedily.

Riddle remained in the store as Ollivander wrapping Harry’s wand with brown paper. He counted seven Gallons from the pouch they got from Gringotts, prepared to pay.

“It’s good to see you with a family, Mr. Riddle.” Ollivander said suddenly, in a soft voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Isn’t he a cousin of yours? Well, at least I assumed so. You can’t expect someone holding the brother wand of yours to be a total stranger, right?”

_Brother…wand?_

=======

Considering how much time they had spent in Ollivander’s, it was already past noon when they finally got ready for the rest of their trip in Diagon Alley. Harry felt a lot better after a sandwich as lunch and half an hour resting in an open-air café. Riddle waited him patiently.

“Are you sure that you’ll be alright?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Harry, “I’ve been like this for the past week. It just came too sudden.”

“You need to go to hospital wing the moment we are back,” Riddle frowned.

“I will, thanks,” Harry sighed, “Now how much time do we still have. We still have lots of things to do, right?”

“Robes, hat, gloves, cloak, books, brass scales, cauldron and phials for Potions, telescope set for astronomy,” Riddle counted, reading off Harry’s school list, “We don’t have budget for pets though.”

“That’s alright, I already have one,” Harry shrugged, thinking of his snake.

“You surely do,” Riddle agreed, “Shall we get going? We still have four hours, along with thirty-three Gallons, seventy Sickles and nineteen Knuts to spend. If we use them well, we may still have time and money left for ice cream.”

=======

Riddle was, to Harry’s surprise, a master in bargaining.

While never having bargained in his life though, Harry had seen plenty of master works accomplished by Aunt Petunia. Every bargaining she had could be considered a battle between two well-armed, shrewd warriors, dancing around each other, calculating every strategy that might bring them victory. But all Aunt Petunia’s skills paled compared with Riddle’s silver tongue.

Riddle was talented in this. Every single word of his was casual but calculated, the exact amount of flattery and compliments but not enough to make it awkward. And if possible, his identity as a poor orphan only assisted him even more. His looks, of course, doubled the effect of his words, which seemed to work best on female shop owners.

Harry silently applauded as Riddle finished another figurative battle, winning him a textbook with an eighty-percent discount.

“What are you doing?” Riddle eyed him suspiciously, making it impossible to tell if he was annoyed or amused.

“Congratulating you on your victory,” Harry pretended to bow. “If my aunt is here, she will be kneeling and calling you the _Lord of Bargaining._ ”

“I’m doing this for you, if you’re happy with that,” Riddle frowned, tossing the book to him. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, the copies professor Slughorn had are too worn-out to even use properly,” Harry caught the book in the middle air. “And I don’t want to borrow Prince’s every time.”

“I guess I wasted the last readable one in my second year. Consider I owe you that one then. Now, what left?”

“Thanks, anyway,” Harry grinned, checking his list. “All equipment ready, books ready, uniforms too. I think we are good.”

“So I guess, it is ice cream then.”

“Ice cream, really?”

“Prefect’s order – we shall go and have some ice cream.”

=======

It was probably the best time Harry had had during his first week. Both of them ordered a large ice cream sundae, strawberry and vanilla for Harry and chocolate and mint for Riddle. Considering Riddle had practically bargained everything in the day, it was probably quite generous of him to have an extra-large ice cream.

“I prefer Florean Fortescue's, you know.” said Harry, with his mouth still full. Ice cream in 1940s was less creamy, he really missed that little shop in his time.

“Florean Fortescue's?”

“The shop down the street from home.” Harry lied, imagining Riddle’s face if he saw a shop with that name fifty years later in Diagon Alley, “Now gone.”

“Pity,” Riddle seemed to be in thoughts “I would really love a visit.”

Harry couldn’t help grinning to himself. _Oh he would be able to_ , _only in a few decades’ time_ _from now._

“Why don’t you like being in Slytherin, Harry?”

Harry nearly dropped his spoon at the sudden question in surprise, “I don’t…what?”

“You don’t like being in the house of snakes, Harry, and not simply because your classmates call you Mudblood.” said Riddle, “I can tell that you weren’t very happy after sorting. Why did you hate the Slytherin house even before you were called Mudblood?”

“I— well…it’s just all of the Slytherins that I have met are not decent people.”

“Who did you meet?”

Harry wasn’t prepared for this. How could he risk revealing those names that didn’t belong to this era? Descendants of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle? Or maybe Snape?

Or most of all, the big, bad Dark Lord who killed his parents?

“Sorry, I have a poor memory for names.” A lame excuse. “But my parents didn’t really like them either. My Mom was a Gryffindor.”

“Ah, typical,” An expression of comprehension crossed onto Riddle’s face. “But your parents’ opinions don’t have to be yours. The hat did put you into Slytherin, surely you must have the qualities for entering the house.”

“More like allocated me randomly,” said Harry, resentfully and mumbling slightly to himself.

“What?” Riddle looked surprised.

“It said I had some sort of barrier that it couldn’t penetrate.” said Harry, without thinking about what the consequences of giving up that information might be, “Didn’t even know what that meant.”

Riddle remained silence for a while, Harry didn’t realize he was staring him with an intensified gaze until he met the other boy in the eye.

“An Occumency barrier,” Riddle whispered in understanding.

“I—I shouldn’t have told you this, forget about it.” Harry suddenly panicked. It did not involve any information about future though, but if the barrier was really a side-effect of time-traveling, Riddle might be able to make a connection.

“Was it constructed by your parents, then?” Riddle murmured, making it hard to tell he was asking or making a guess, “For the protection of your mind, maybe?”

“Err, yeah, probably.” _Let Riddle guess. Who would think of time-traveling anyway._ “But it’s nothing important, and please don’t tell anyone.”

“I believe no one will find it interesting,” Riddle chuckled. “But promise me two things, Harry.”

“What are they?”

“One, you go to hospital wing the moment we are back, you know, for the incidence earlier today.”

Harry blushed, regretting showing weakness in front of Riddle.

“And two, try to come to Slytherin’s common room more often. Give this house a chance.”

“I…”

“Would you promise me that, Harry?”

Reluctantly, he had to admit Riddle was right. He wasn’t really giving his Slytherin fellows a chance, even though Riddle and Prince had made examples that not everyone would despise and insult him. Maybe he was just as prejudiced as Malfoy and Black, who, surely couldn’t represent the whole house.

“I can do that.”

“Thank you, Harry,” smiling brightly, Riddle looked nearly angelic under light of sunset.

“Thank you to you too,” said Harry, “I had a great time today. To – sorry – Riddle.”

The other boy seemed to be in struggle for a while, then —

“You may call me Tom.”

“Tom then, thanks,” The other boy grinned.

Bathed in warm, golden sunshine, Harry grinned contently to his ice cream. _Maybe world in 1940s wasn’t that bad at all, maybe he only needed to give it a chance…_

And it was when this world suddenly scattered into pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our Lord of Bargaining did visit Florean Fortescue's in the future, what do you think the poor old man kidnapped for? (book six) :-p


	7. Obscurus, Obscurial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By this point of time, I hope you have seen the movie fantastic beast already.  
> But if you haven't, please check wiki for definition of [Obscurus](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Obscurus)
> 
> Basically, this is a chapter where I go WILD.
> 
> Super special thanks to [EnjeruTantei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjeruTantei/pseuds/EnjeruTantei), thank you for betaing and staying up to like...2 am (Please don't do this again)?

Grindelwald’s attack.

Tom’s expression darkened. Grindelwald was already able to take action in Diagon Alley, one of the most populated wizarding communities in Britain. _This was not a good sign_.

He had shrunken their stuff and put them all into the second-hand trunk he bought for Harry before they settled down in the ice cream shop, planning to wait for their Portkey to activate. Now, all of the fruits of victory from Tom Riddle’s otherworldly bargaining were shrunk and lightened, safely in his pocket, except for Harry’s wand, which was in Harry’s pocket, as insisted by the boy.

Smoke rose as the sound of an explosion echoed through the alleyway, followed by screams and sound of glasses shattering. People who were leisurely enjoying their day a moment ago were now seized in panic, flooding in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom saw several of them try desperately to apparate but fail; he had a sunk feeling in his stomach.

It meant that an anti-apparition ward had been set.

It also meant that this was not something random, but rather, a planned raid. The attackers, whoever they were, were cruel enough to determine that no one could escape, not even women and children. If they had gone through the trouble to set an anti-apparition ward, then certainly the Leaky Cauldron was nowhere safe enough to pass through.

Not to mention the fact that he had to look after a twelve-year-old in the crowd, which only doubled the difficulty. Tom frowned at the sight of a woman struggling with her two children.

_What a burden that would be._

No, they have their own advantage – they have a Portkey – they didn’t have to struggle like these pathetic people. He could deal with this in a more elegant way.

“We are not running, Tom?” asked the twelve-year-old.

“No, Harry,” said Tom, calmly, “We hide.”

=======

Dragging the younger boy who was still in bewilderment behind him, he headed to an abandoned alley near them. Now, they were hiding behind a giant wooden box, observing the street in tense silence.

Tom cursed himself for not able to use the disillusionment charm yet. It was still too dangerous to stay there under the circumstances; they would be found if anyone looked closely. But looking for other spots was even more dangerous – the explosion sound from before was too close to them – he had to observe the situation before his next move.

Reluctantly, he casted a notice-me-not charm, but he knew clearly that it was only child’s play for an experienced dark wizard, and he could only hope that no one would actually notice them.

Just then, a hooded man in a dark cloak strode into the now empty street that they’d just escaped from, his face hidden deep beneath the cloak, with only his chin to be seen. It must be a glamor, because no matter how bright the sunshine was, most of his face was still perfectly invisible under the thick shadow.

“Is that one of Grindelwald’s follower?” a whisper next to Tom inquired. Tom looked at the boy, who was certainly a little nervous but mostly, curious.

“Indeed. But _you_ should be able to recognize them,” Tom frowned, “Yet this sounds like you just saw them for the first time.”

“Well, believe me, I tried to forget the trauma,” He countered.

“And for a traumatized person you are awfully forgetful,” Tom narrowed his eyes, “And awfully calm too.”

“Nothing good panicking here, right?” Harry answered through his teeth.

The hooded man halted, standing at a dangerously close distance. Both of the boys quieted, observing nervously. The man seemed to be surveying the surrounding. With a few casual waves of his wand, he casted several spells. Tom felt the air around him shifted.

The man then conjured a Patronus, which he spoke to in a thick, foreign accent.

“To the Leaky Cauldron, Klaus. Most of them British cowards going there; they have no idea we’ve already sealed the bar.”

Seeing the Patronus departure, the man headed away with a crooked, satisfied smile on his lips. Before he left, Tom was sure he smirked to their direction. The place where they were hiding would be no longer safe.

========

Tom took a breath, deeply.

Maintaining his calm appearance, despite his thoughts being in chaos, Tom began to contemplate the situation. This was no school play anymore; it was a real, well-planned, terrorist attack, in which well-armed, strictly trained warriors involved. He knew plenty dark magic that might be useful in a battle, but that would ruin his perfect image that he’d been maintaining for so long. Especially now he was in his school uniform, with not even a mask to hide his identity, and a twelve-year-old dragging along.

It was too easy to be recognized like this. He would have to explain why he was able to use an unforgivable if anyone happen to witness something and that would only cause him unnecessary trouble, ruining his plans completely.

No, especially under Dumbledore’s still annoying scrutiny. It was not his time to strike; he must hide for now, inconspicuously and perfectly. If they were lucky enough to remain unnoticed for next twenty-three minutes until the Portkey activated, they would be returned to Hogwarts safely.

 _Only a little luck, and they would be safe_. Tom thought to himself in a foul mood. And the first thing he’d do when back to Hogwarts, he’d call a knight’s meeting to discuss masks and outfits for their future expeditions.

The hooded men soon disappeared, along with all of the people who’d flooded there moments ago. They had probably already fled to the entrance of Diagon Alley – as the man said – expecting to leave the place through the shabby bar, but that place was not safe anymore. As for shop-owners, they were probably hiding within the safety of their protection wards, praying for minimal damage. But with the anti-apparition ward in place, no one was going anywhere.

“Harry, we need to move,” Tom whispered. He heard a sound from the other side of alley the moment that the hooded man disappeared. It’s dangerous for them to stay there.

They kept themselves down, sneaking in the opposite direction. Sound of an explosion and breaking glass echoed through the alley from behind them. An old man pleaded for mercy, and a woman’s cry pierced the burning sky.

The alley which used to be so lively and crowded and bustling with noise was now empty and dead like a ghost town, with every door and window closed tightly. It was not possible for them to hide in stores, being so tightly seeled. They had to get away from those dangerous areas, as far as possible.

Nineteen minutes left. Tom scowled. It was torture.

=======

They stopped at a narrow alley neighboring Ollivander’s wand shop. Tom halted immediately as he heard two men whispering.

“-must be quick, or our target will escape…”

“Unlikely, since the anti-apparition ward was already set. That old man is not going anywhere. Give Marz some time, “ he paused, before continuing, “This is like taking candy from a baby.”

“But what about the Aurors…”

“The ward— it’s something truly remarkable. No one can get out and no one can come in. Not even an owl or Patronus, no one knows what’s happening here until they see tomorrow’s newspaper. We have plenty of time,” The dark wizard explained with excitement.

“But I don’t understand, why go through so much trouble, for a wandmaker…”

“He’s not the only target... Our lord seemed to want something else. He never explains, does he? Oh there he comes…”

A third man appeared at the door of the little wand shop, with an unconscious Ollivander floating behind him.

Tom frowned in confusion at the sight. Why target Ollivander? What would a Dark Lord want from him? And what else would Grindelwald want?

But it was not a good time for him to consider this. This place was a crime scene now, and it was not safe to stay here. If they were seen…

“All done, let’s go before anyone sees.”

“To the edge of anti-apparition ward—”

The three men turned to Tom’s direction. He must move, if not now then never, taking the twelve-year-old too…

Speaking of whom –

“Harry! What are you doing!”

The twelve-year-old already rose up, wand in his hand –

“They got Mr. Ollivander; we must help. Watch—”

And the boy waved his wand –

“Expelliarmus.”

Not one, but all three wands of the three men flew in their direction. Harry caught them altogether in one grip, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah, impressive. You’ll get us caught, you idiot!” Tom scowled, _what was the boy thinking_?

“I won’t! They haven’t even noticed where their wands went!”

It was true, all three men seemed utterly bewildered, searching nearby corners and roofs for the possible lurker.

“Alright, now we must move—“

“But they still have Mr. Ollivander—“

“I said, move!”

“Look, what do we have,” dawled a cold voice above their heads. “School boys playing truant.”

Tom paled. They were really going to be in trouble.

=======

“ _Stupefy_!”

He whipped around, throwing the stunning spell towards the man as fast as he could. Though he despised this spell, he was not about to use more dangerous ones at the moment– the twelve-year-old might not recognize something dark but he wouldn’t be able to fool the dark wizard in front of him, or any possible witness in the corners of streets.

The hooded man blocked the stunning spell with ease, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. _Not an easy one to take_. Tom gritted his teeth.

_“Tarantallegra!”_

To Tom’s surprise, the boy waved his wand again and shouted out maybe one of the few pranking jinxes he knew. If they were not in extreme danger, Tom might have found it quite amusing. How could the boy think a second-year level jinx could stop a dangerous dark wizard?

And it turned out, he was very wrong about it.

The dark wizard had no doubt underestimated the boy too. He could easily block Tom’s stunning spell, in which Tom had put plenty of power, but the boy’s pranking jinx clearly caught him off-guard. His legs started to move without his permission. It’s hard to make out his expression with most of his face hidden under the shadowy glamor, but the visible part had twisted into an ugly grimace, which was both amusing and terrifying at the same time.

“Run, Tom!”

Tom didn’t need to be told twice, he quickly rose to his feet, casting an Impediment Jinx to the direction of the other three men who had noticed them already. He was unsure how much time this could earn them, but this was probably enough for Harry and him to flee from the spot and find another place to hide temporarily.

He hated to flee like a coward, but it was not a good choice to fight there with the potential audience – that place was too open, open to the windows of the shops facing the street, from which people might be peeping, and they definitely wouldn’t miss the specific green light of a killing curse. He knew all too well about humanity, those too spineless to help now would gather enough courage to spread the word in the aftermath. Even if it was a matter of life and death and what he did was all self-defense, people would still consider him as dangerous as the dark wizards who ruthlessly robbed and attacked them. Especially since he was still in the innocent age of a school boy, and a story in which a fifth-year prefect successfully casting the killing curse would put the whole school into a scandal. He had put in so much effort in that kingdom of his, so he was not going to screw that up recklessly.

 _No, definitely not_. If he was going to fight his battle and— maybe kill a man or two —he had to choose his own battlefield.

=======

Panting desperately, his hands rested on his knees.

The familiar suffocating feeling came back again, at a very wrong time. Although he tried very hard not to show any sign his agony, he had certainly been a drag on Tom. Not to mention, he had dragged them both into trouble, and now, they were fleeing for their lives.

Harry wondered how he had managed to escape that far in a state like this – the lump came into life, seemed to be impatient and thrusting within the shallow space of his chest cavity, squishing his organs and stabbing at his ribs. Harry suspected that his inside had already become a combination of blood and minced meat. If he spit, it would be his blood and shredded entrails that came out of him, hitting the ground and blossoming like coquelicots.

They were now in a narrow alley, hidden between two buildings, with two window-less walls looming above them. The alley was dark, one could see what happened inside only if they stood at the entrances. However, with both ends linked to other streets and no obstacles to hide behind, Harry considered their place not any safer than any of the ones before. If both entrances were to be blocked, there would be no escape for them.

Harry wondered why Tom would choose here to hide.

He tried to spot the other boy through his watery eyes; the other boy, however, seemed to be busy with something. He shuffled back and forth in the alley, casting some incantation with complicated movements of his wand. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. His dark curls, which were always neatly combed, were in disarray now.

Harry felt a strong guilt towards the older boy. If it was not for him, he would be sitting comfortably in the Slytherin’s common room, enjoying his weekend, reading books or hanging around with his (influential and dangerous) friends.

But now, both of them were in a deadly danger.

If he died here, that would be fine. He would stop disturbing the flow of history– Ron and Hermione would miss him sure –but everything else would be fine.

But if Tom died here, _it was all his fault_.

Guilt and desperation drowned him over like tide water, suffocated him, _killing him_.

He blamed himself, for disarming those dark wizards, for dragging Tom with him to Diagon Alley, for entering the diary in the first place.

_It is all my fault_.

But why did he blame himself all the time? Why even was Diagon Alley so dangerous in 1940s. No one would ever get attacked in Diagon Alley in his time.

Yes, the 1940s. The cold, prejudiced, dangerous _1940s_ … _the era he was unable to escape from_ …

And he was going to die there.

_But I don’t want to die. Why do I have to die?_

Fear grasped his heart, amplifying with every single beat of it. A poisonous snake woke up in his chest with that strong emotion, gliding through his veins, to his limbs, to his mind, occupying there with dark thoughts - _hatred_.

_Oh, how he hated it._

He hated everything there, the era, the people. It had no right, _no right_ _,_ to take away all things he valued— his friends, his life —leaving him all alone, in the house of snakes, with people he didn’t even like.

_It was…_

“…don’t collapse here, Harry.” With a ringing sound echoed in his ears, it took him his every effort to recognize Tom’s voice.

“…only twelve minutes…hang in there…”

_No, he was asking too much…He couldn’t take it anymore…_

_It was…_

A shadow blocked light from one side of the alley; he sensed the other boy stiffened next to him, tried to drag him to the other side, only halted all of sudden.

Because the other side was also blocked.

_It was all too much._

=======

He heard cruel laughter. He saw jets of lights. There were curses, bouncing in the shallow space. He was probably hit by one of those, or maybe not. He couldn’t really tell. The beast inside him was already consuming him alive.

One of the shadows collapsed, whispers coming from the other three.

“…so dangerous at such an age…”

“…must…finish them…”

And there was the green light he’d been seeing in dreams since his childhood.

With the green light coming towards him, he heard a high-pitched laughter, a pleading sound of a woman.

 _Ah he knew it_. Maybe he just knew it all the time, like there’s an ancient instinct, teaching him the basic rules of universe.

This was the exact curse that left him with the scar, the exact curse that killed his parents, the exact curse that his mother used to protect him from.

_Except this time, he was protected by nobody._

Fear drowned him over, and that was when he exploded into shadow and darkness

=======

It would be a dead end if they came from both directions, but this alley was inconspicuous, consealed even, so he could avoid attention from an unwanted audience, which gave him a free pass to use dark magic. Even if both ends were blocked, it only served him better. In that way, any death could be explained as a tragedy in which a killing curse from the opposite side unfortunately missed its target and hit their own men.

He had switched his wand to one of those three robbed by Harry, he’s not going to leave traces and records in his own wand. It needed be completely clean, with only harmless stunning spells and an impediment jinx to be detected.

With the detection spell set at both ends, he was ready for a proper duel.

The only problem was the boy.

He noticed the younger boy at the edge of collapse, and now, he needed to pay more attention to him. He frowned in annoyance; it was not his style to be burdened in a battle.

Yet, he needed the boy to be alive at least. That boy seemed to be favored by Dumbledore, so it would only intensify his annoying scrutiny if the boy died.

But most of all, it was because he still needed to dig out all of those delicious, sweet secrets of his.

The brother wand, the Occlumency barrier. He recalled the moment when he tried Legilimency but only met an impenetrable, dark wall in the boy’s mindscape. No one twelve years of age could manage a masterpiece like that. It was surely built by someone truly powerful. If it was the boy’s parents, the boy could never be a mere Mudblood.

Not to mention what the brother wand had implied, and the ability of Parseltongue …

He licked his lips in excitement. _To think about all the information he could extract from the boy._ It would be worth all his efforts babysitting and protecting this boy today.

Even with a barrier that would hinder him…but no, it didn’t matter. A young and simple boy like him - sometimes even naïve - he was clearly the type who was thirsty for affection. People like him were easy, too easy… _He would be open to him eventually…_

“Harry, are you alright? You don’t look good…but don’t collapse here, alright?” He saw the boy’s fist clenching, beads of sweat dropping from his forehead, face as pale as a ghost.

“We are still on the run. Not safe until Portkey activated, but only twelve minutes to go now, so hang in there, would you?”

It was then the detecting spell he set at both sides rippled. _Their position was found. They were cornered now…_

“Under the skin of snakes, you certainly have a heart of lion in you, boy.”

A cold voice which sounded confident teased him mercilessly, apparently those three men who were disarmed by Harry had found themselves wands.

“Oh, please, don’t insult me,” Tom retorted, bitterly. He didn’t like to be looked down on.

“Our lord doesn’t like the blood of young wizards to be spilled.” said the one who found them in the alley, “But you two are unlucky today – you witnessed something you shouldn’t. Not to mention that one -” he pointed at Harry. “is holding our wands.”

“Are you okay, little one?” the other man teased at Harry, who seemed to have trouble standing. “Exhausted already from a little hide and seek? Although, it’s not a game we are playing here, since those who lose will die.”

All four of them laughed. Tom tightened his grip on the wand in his hand. Now it’s his chance…

“ _Crucio!_ ”

One of the hooded men screamed, but it was soon cut by a strong Protego casted by another man standing next to him.

“Well, well, surely we are not playing, are we.” The other one whispered, dangerously. “School boys casting an unforgivable…your headmaster would be so proud…”

Tom didn’t wait him to finish the sentence, he casted another one towards him immediately, but this time the dark wizards were prepared, it was blocked with ease.

“I think it’s time to teach you how to duel decently…”

The cruciatus curse flew back. Tom dodged, the red light hit the other boy behind him, who was, surprisingly, still holding his ground.

That reminded him that they were actually facing a converging attack, with one side that hadn’t taken any action yet but only cornering them in a predatory way. They still considered him an ordinary school boy, even after he casted the cruciatus curse.

_Well, they would pay for that…_

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

A jet of green light burst out of the tip of his wand, hitting one of the hooded men in the chest, who didn’t even struggle but slowly collapsed on the ground.

His glamor fell off, revealing his eyes which were open wild in disbelief.

Silence fell on the rest three. Under the calm surface, the undercurrent of anger and horror formed slowly.

“A killing curse…” the one who found them in the alley whispered

“…so dangerous at such an age…”

“Stop playing, we must finish them.” Their leader said coldly.

“Kill the hatchling before it grows. _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

It came too fast. But before Tom could act, he was entangled into a turbulence of darkness and shadow.

=======

Where was he?

There were roofs in different colors and shapes, a sight he definitely wouldn’t see in Privet Drive, a sight that would drive his Aunt Petunia crazy.

The Diagon Alley, he recognized. Did he just get out of the fireplace? That might explain all the nauseating and dizzy feeling of his, he hadn’t recovered from that floo-travel then…

The world was swirling in front of him, or, it was him who was swirling…

He was weightless, he realized. He could go as high as he could. But no, he didn’t have a broom with him, he would fall if he climbed too high…

Oh, he missed his Nimbus 2000. Where was it now? In the cupboard downstairs? In Burrow? Or perhaps, in his dormitory?

But he really had nothing in his dormitory. His dormitory was a place too dim and green and deep underground…

His dormitory was in _Slytherin_ …

Oh, he remembered now, he was no longer Harry Potter the Gryffindor, he was _Harry Granger_ , _the Slytherin_ …

And he was alone, alone in the 1940s. His friends and classmates far away from him, fifty years away…

Horror grasped his heart, but he had no heart…no heart in this form…

He looked at his body in confusion. But no, he had no body now. He was a shapeless smoke, dark, swirling. He had nowhere to be, yet he was _everywhere_.

His surroundings, he realized, scattered with broken bricks and shattered glasses. It looked like someone had fought here… But wait, it was them who were in a fight…they were _attacked_ … by four hooded men.

They tried to kill him, with the curse that killed his parents…he was an orphan because of that…

Why killing his parents not enough?

Why they had to kill him too? Even when he was a harmless infant…

Why they were still trying to kill him? He did nothing wrong right?

Why? Why? _Why?_

The world was wrong.

He felt a sudden urge, to claim what was his back. He could revenge, right? Revenge for his parents, revenge for his own pathetic life…

He used to be powerless, but not now. With this power, he could do _anything_ , anything he wanted…

_Listen to your instinct, Harry, listen to what your heart ssscreamsss…_

A whisper. _Yesss. That was his inssstinct, what his heart ssscreamed._ He wanted it, wanted to revenge, to destroy, _to kill_ …

And those men who attacked him, were right in front of him.

=======

An Obscurus. Tom stared in fascination. _A very powerful one_.

He had never seen an Obscurus in person before. All his knowledge about this mysterious creature was from books, those in the restricted area, which could only let him know vaguely what it was about.

He knew that boy would be special, but he didn’t expect him to be _that._

And as he learnt from books, Obscurus were extremely dangerous. Their attacks were lethal and quick, no one could ever really fight against. Yet, they couldn’t be destroyed in that form. Once this dark force was released, no one could stand a chance.

He had to admit; he panicked the moment he was wrapped in that dark power. But it then occurred him that Harry didn’t want to harm him. That shapeless smoke of shadow of his only caressed him gently, then the boy – no, the obscurus – swirled above, seeming to be in confusion.

A similar smell, Tom recognized. But it was irrational… for an obscurus had no smell…

But if he concentrated, it was not only the smell, he could also feel its emotion. A mind barrier for the human form maybe, but the boy’s emotion was completely exposed in this form.

Loneliness, agony, horror, anger, confusion, _hatred_ …

Emotions he was familiar with, emotions he constantly felt when he was in that orphanage.

The dark wizards paled at the sight of Obscurus. They lost interest towards Tom immediately, focusing on the swirling shadow. Clearly, they knew too well about the destruction it could cause.

The anger amplified. The Obscurus was in pain. The sights of Grindelwald’s followers must have agitated him.

_It was their fault you are orphaned, Harry…_ _their fault…_ _You should…revenge…_

_You should…_

_Listen to your instinct, Harry, listen to what your heart ssscreamsss…_

_Yesss…_ The Obscurus whispered back.

_Yesss…he wanted it…he wanted the sweet, sweet revenge…wanted it to be destroyed, killed…_

Oh, the sudden switch of emotions. The Obscurus who was in a confusion at first, now became vicious. It listened… it whispered back… it answered him…

It… _obeyed_ …

There was this connection, linking him, anchoring him. _A connection he had felt once before - something warm, something nostalgic, something home._

Wild rapture struck Tom – _Yes! Yessss…he had power over this creature - He Owned It,_

_Now, attack, Harry._

The Obscurus attacked.

It happened in a split second. All three men were thrown backward, raised up high, and suspended for a moment in midair, before being thrashed down with a violent crash – all dead in that instance.

But the fury of Obscurus didn’t stop there. It continued crashing down the walls that trapped it, shattering glasses on its way around. Those buildings surrounded were soon torn to nothing.

If any lives were hiding inside those buildings, they would certainly have been vanished by that point of time.

It truly was something so dangerous, so beautiful, so powerful— the Obscurus.

Tom reached his hand to the Obscurus in fascination. An echo of emotion transferred back— the darkest thoughts of destroy, of murder, of hatred…

The creature, no the boy, resembled him so much, _internally_. Oh, they were so _alike_.

Tom felt an urge to feel it, to hold it. It was his and his alone. It would be his power, his weapon, his –

“Come to me.” He whispered.

“ _Come to me, my beautiful little thing, my soul, my…_ ”

_My soul?_

The furious swirling of Obscurus slowed down. Slowly, it gathered itself in front of Tom, who was spreading his arms with excitement. He waited with expectation, wanting to see what would happen next.

The figure of the little boy reappeared, first his messy hair, his dust-stained face – the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead was bleeding furiously. The boy’s eyes were shut tightly, tears streaming down.

Two skinny, tiny arms encircled his neck. He wrapped his own around the boy’s waist too, holding him tightly.

_My soul…_

The Portkey activated at that moment, bringing them back to their home -

Hogwarts.


	8. Whispers in Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank uuuu shawarma_rice coming for the rescue!  
> Super efficient beta work! LUV U!

_…When the paths cross... when the streams meet…_

_…flow of fates tangles…_

_…weaving into a new universe…_

_…Oh…Godness…_

_…was it a gift from Chronos…_

_…or was it a curse…_

=======

He saw a little dark-haired boy standing alone in a bustling room. Sunlight shore through the tall windows, painting the dancing floating dust with gold. It seemed to be a cold winter morning, with sunshine bringing the only warmth to the room. But the boy stayed in the shadow, seemingly bored. He was staring vacantly at the tip of his feet, a contrast to the other children who were laughing and chasing each other playfully.

But strange enough, none of the other kids seemed to be willing to come close to the boy. Though space was narrow and crowded, all kids tended to cluster in the other end of the room, even it was easy to stumble when running through the crowd. A certain barrier that the other kids could not penetrate seemed to be built around the boy.

_“Freak!”_

Oh, the familiar, familiar vicious word. He heard it all too clearly, couldn’t help but jerk out of instinct. But then he realized, it wasn’t _him_ being called, that voice was too young and crispy to be Uncle Vernon’s or Aunt Petunia’s - apparently it belonged to a child, yet too puerile to be Dudley’s either.

A hand followed, pushed the dark-haired boy harshly. The boy stumbled but held his ground. The one who pushed that dark-haired boy – a taller one – scowled and grabbed his collar, pushed him to the wall.

“What did you do to my rabbit!” the taller boy nearly screamed.

“Nothing. I warn you, Billy,” said the dark-haired boy, still seemed bored. His voice dangerously calm, “release me.”

“It was you! It definitely was! Strange things always happen and it’s always your fault! _You freak_!”

The dark-haired boy didn’t even flinch. He eyed the other boy with disgust, which irritated the other boy further.

“Billy, enough,” came a harsh voice, “and you, Tom.”

“Mrs.Cole! It’s Tom, it’s definitely him.”

“I said enough, Billy. How many times I need to tell you you must leave him alone.”

The woman eyed the taller boy warningly, pried his hands open and pushed him back to a group of smaller kids - they had all stopped playing, staring at the scene alarmingly.

The dark-haired boy, on the other hand, held his chin high as the woman - Mrs. Cole - returned to him. She frowned - an expression extremely resembling that of Aunt Petunia’s when she saw a stubborn stain in the kitchen - and took a deep breath as if she was facing her most unpleasant task. 

“Tom, time for your treatment.”

The dark-haired boy – Tom - who never showed fear during the confrontation, widened his eyes in horror.

“No! I’m not having _that_ treatment again!” Now it was him who was screaming, “I’m not crazy! Tell the doctor!”

“It’s not my place to decide. And you should be grateful, it’s for your own good.” Mrs.Cole’s voice remained cold and unsympathetic, with a clear dislike in her tone.

“Come along, Dr. Lewis is waiting.”

“No! I’m not going!”

The woman snapped at the resistance, grabbed the boy by his thin arm, dragging him harshly to the direction of the corridor, uncaring for the boy’s angry scream out of pain.

“Don’t test my patience, Tom. Mrs. Wools has been very generous to you, the orphanage has been paying your treatment, while you little filthy, ungrateful - ”

She didn’t finish the sentence, fury, and disgust burned in her eyes. She jerked the boy harshly, drawing painful cries out of him.

Screaming and struggling, the dark-haired boy was dragged away. The taller boy, along with other kids in the room, sneered and pointed to the scene.

“…getting what he deserves, that _freak_ …”

It was then all images and sounds dissolved into darkness. He was alone again.

_What a vivid dream._

He sighed into the endless blackness. He recalled the time when he was little – every time when strange things happened and he was punished and locked up for that – the darkness in his cupboard was equally thick and impenetrable…

Whispers that sounded familiar and smoothing wrapped him up. They seemed to be something meaningful and important, yet with a swirling mind, his brain was no longer able to process those whispered words properly. A little unsettling though, there was really nothing he could do, nothing…

He sighed again, let himself drift, relaxing into an invisible hand that was caressing him gently. _Rest, dream and recover…I will take care of you…_

He closed his eyes. Slowly and gradually, the pain in his chest lessened, the suffocating sensation leaving...He let out a relieved breath…yesss…he was in a recovery dream… _how miraculous_ …and he was tired…too tired…

Sighing contently, he allowed himself settling into the sea of his subconscious.

And if he felt an emptiness as the pain leaving, it definitely didn’t bother him at all.

=======

The boy had lost consciousness for three days.

Albus Dumbledore would never forget his shock when he saw the two boys who were covered in blood and dirt appeared suddenly in Slughorn’s office, an ordinary day when he was having an afternoon tea with the potion master, chatting leisurely about a newly opened bar in Hogsmeade.

“Merlin! What happened?”

“Grindelwald’s attack,” Tom replied shortly, still panting, “in Diagon Alley. We escaped, the portkey just activated in time…Sir, I – I must take Harry to the hospital wing, still bleeding – the Cruciatus Curse - ”

“Of course, of course…this way…”

It was already too late to blame Slughorn’s neglect of duty - the potion master should be the one who accompanied Harry to Diagon Alley after all. While Dumbledore himself too, had never foreseen the possibility that Grindelwald would dare to attack Diagon Alley – one of the most populated wizarding areas in England – out of all the places. All he could do was making sure the boy was under medical care, briefly questioned Tom about the unfortunate event and wished for the boy’s well-being.

But Daily Prophet he received the next morning had changed everything.

“Thirteen people died, Albus.” Slughorn, who was sitting next to him, gasped in shock.

Other staff at the table weren’t in a better state. They whispered to each other in horror. Grindelwald attacked Diagon Alley and thirteen people died in one move…it was a new record even for that man’s merciless invasions, crushing news in time as darkness penetrating the Wizarding world of Great Britain.

“Four of the victims were recognized as dark wizards at Grindelwald’s side,” Merrythought whispered at his right hand, “internal strife?”

“That’s what the newspaper suspected, however…”

A giant photo of the wreckage was displayed on the front page. An “explosion” - the newspaper suggested - an explosion owing to extremely dark magic or a new weapon that Grindelwald developed was responsible for the death of thirteen people, even including the Dark Lord’s own men.

To avoid further panic, the newspapers didn’t report details of the damage or any information of victims. But the displayed photos of the remnant of the streets which were once so beautiful, and scenes where people crying in desperate sorrow were heartbreaking enough.

It was also these photos that gave him critical information about the attack.

He saw a small part of a dead body in the corner of one of these photos. It could belong to anyone - the dark wizards or innocent people. It was only a small stripe of pale skin, almost unnoticeable but still visible.

But when he saw that small part of the body, his blood ran cold, his knuckles went pale as he clenched the paper hard.

A dark wizard’s attack, others might see, but not to Dumbledore. The destruction, the deathly power, and most of all, the _specific marks_ on the victim’s body…and yes...he remembered too clearly about that man’s obsession with a certain dark creature...

It was none other than an Obscurus attack.

=======

“Please, sit. Mr. Riddle,” He offered the sixteen-year-old boy a seat, “I would like to hear more about the unfortunate event yesterday.”

“As I already stated, Harry and I hid, until the Portkey activated.”

“Where did you hide?”

“Around the ice cream shop at first, then we moved, closer to Ollivander’s.”

“That’s still an area within the attack range, how did you manage to hide that long?”

“Actually, we didn’t. Harry saw the dark wizards had attacked Mr. Ollivander and disarmed them, and caught their attention. Then we ran into a narrow alley – Harry was hit by Cruciatus Curse there – that’s when the Portkey activated.” answered Tom, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Could you tell me more about the dark wizards who attacked Mr. Ollivander?”

“Yes, sir. Harry and I tried to hide in the alley next to Mr. Ollivander’s store, where we heard two men talking about anti-apparition ward, then the third man came - he was the one who kidnapped Mr. Ollivander - he had probably stupefied him and let him float behind. It was then Harry disarmed all three of them.”

Dumbledore nodded. Without a word, he turned to the closet behind his desk, opened the cabinet door and took out a wooden box. With the box, he returned to Tom, who was looking at him in confusion.

Dumbledore opened the box, three wands lying inside.

“These, Mr. Riddle, are the wands you handed in. They belonged to the dark wizards as you implied, correct?”

“Yes, these are also the wands taken by Harry.”

“I paid a visit to Mr. Ollivander earlier today, Mr. Riddle. Poor Mr. Ollivander, still in shock and recovery, but he was kind enough to run through all the trouble to examine these wands for me. Bless him.” said Dumbledore, he lifted one of them, “This one, aspen, phoenix feather, 13 inches and half, belonged to Marz Ludwig, the only heir of an ancient pure-blood family in Germany. Do you know what is special about it?”

“No, sir.”

“We detected two Cruciatus Curses and one Killing curse.”

“So they may have tortured and killed someone before they met us, I guess,” said Tom, calmly.

“ - they were after two ward breaking curses, a stunning spell, and the floating charm.”

Tom nearly opened his mouth. He was so stupid. Why did he even tell Dumbledore all of the details? Of all the three wands, he happened to have chosen the one that attacked the wandmaker - and he had even stupidly given all necessary information away. Now since he had told Dumbledore that the third man - the German wizard Marz Ludwig - was disarmed _after_ he stupefied the wandmaker and let him float behind, the only person who was able to cast Cruciatus Curses and Killing curse after that could be either Harry or Tom himself, and since Harry was too young to even know the curse, surely the old man would suspect -

He could feel Dumbledore’s gaze intensified, cursing himself inwardly, he still straightened and met the gaze - the old fox didn’t have any other evidence after all. Well, if he suspected that he cast Crucio and the killing curse, let it be then. He wouldn’t be caught on this - as long as he strengthens his ward, the ward in his mindscape -

“I have no idea, sir. As I just said, it must have happened before Harry disarmed them - _before we met them_ – I hope you weren’t implying that _Harry_ was the one casting the Crucio and the killing curse. They are dark wizards, surely they had tortured and killed someone somewhere we didn’t see. And I heard thirteen people were dead in the attack.”

It was rude to respond to his professor like this, but he couldn’t care less. He must play innocent, hide all the clues under the crooked nose of the Legilimency master. All his effort engaged in the reinforcement of the fortress that was protecting his mind and none left for him to word the phrase carefully. He must not be found – that he was the one who _tortured and killed._ Even it was for self-defense he couldn’t be found like this, _especially by Dumbledore_.

“They were not killed by the Killing curse, Mr. Riddle.” Dumbledore shook his head, tiredness in his voice. The old man’s posture went a little tensed, he seemed to be burdened by stress and tension all of sudden.

“Then - ”

But to his surprise, Dumbledore didn’t persist in his interrogation as if he had lost his interest toward Tom completely.

“All victims were found around the area of the explosion, killed by - ”

The rest of the sentence remained unsaid, while the old professor appeared unwilling to finish it. He waved his hand as if chasing off some horrible memories.

Tom noticed the Daily Prophet lying on his desk. The newspaper that suggested the “explosion”, but it was no ordinary explosion, not one that was caused by dark magic - it was Harry, Harry who torn half of the street into nothing, Harry who killed those dark wizards as well as those whoever they were hiding in houses or happened to be near the narrow alley where they hid, those foolish Aurors from Ministry must have considered them all victims of a powerful magical explosion. But it was not the truth...

“I need to ask you, Mr. Riddle, this is important. Is there anything you can tell me about the explosion, maybe even a sign you may have noticed?”

Tom could smell the desperation in the old professor’s tone. He understood now, the wand - who cast the Cruciatus Curses and Killing curse - was not important, _was never important._ The interrogation before was just his annoying habit - a gesture showing how he never trusted him, how that nothing he had done could escape his scrutiny. Asking about the “explosion” - Harry - was his true intention from the beginning.

And that happened to be another secret he wanted to keep for himself desperately.

“No, sir. We were returned to Hogwarts when the Portkey activated, and I believe the explosion hadn’t happened back then. Neither did I notice any sign of it, Harry and I were running for our lives, after all.”

A pregnant silence fell between them. Dumbledore crossed his fingers, looked Tom directly into the eyes for the second time in their conversation. Tom stared back unflinchingly, stood still and met Dumbledore’s penetrating gaze.

The man retracted it after a few seconds, sighed heavily.

“Well, Mr.Riddle. I have to admit that I am impressed. As an underage student, you faced a crisis that even many adults haven’t faced. You did very well, remained calm and even protected your housemate in a deadly situation. It is very noble and brave of you. Twenty points to Slytherin.”

There was unmistakably a hint of disappointment in that man’s tone as if what Tom did was rather disappointing than “noble and brave”. It was also the first time Tom ever earnt house point from Dumbledore, though reluctant and pathetic - he could have probably earnt two-hundreds if from Slughorn. But it was still a sign that Dumbledore decided to leave his questions and end their discussion there. Considering the Legilimency master’s unusual interest in the “explosion”, he knew he wouldn’t give up easily if he had seen any trace of a lie in his mind - he had succeeded in hiding his secrets this time. He announced it a victory anyway.

He didn’t want to acknowledge that cold sweat had been streaming down his back already - ever since when Dumbledore questioned him about the wand. He was lucky this time, the “explosion” had completely distracted Dumbledore from what he accidentally revealed about the wand.

As for the “explosion” itself -

“You may go now, Mr.Riddle.”

“Thank you, sir.” He bowed slightly. With his face remained blank, another plan had formed in his mind.

“Good day.”

=======

The boy had lost consciousness for three days.

Tom insisted to stay the night in the hospital wing. The boy’s status made him all anxious. It was the third day since the attack. The school hospital wing had already made an appointment with Healers from St. Mungo. If the boy still wouldn’t wake up, he would be transferred to the Wizarding hospital tomorrow.

During the three days, rumors had spread all over the school, that the boy was permanently damaged, or worse - the boy had already died.

Tom reached to feel the boy’s pulse – a steady one. The boy was still breathing. His heart was beating vigorously. No, he couldn’t be dead. He would eventually wake up at some point in time.

And Tom must make sure he’s the first person the boy would see when he woke up, he had plans after all…

About how to hide his identity as an Obscurial.

_An Obscurial._

Tom looked at the unconscious boy in fascination, recalling the memory in a wild bliss. _It was beautiful,_ this treasure he had found.

Tom had a unique aesthetics view. He loved everything that was powerful, the more powerful they were, the prettier they were to Tom. And his fascination towards the boy only intensified as he heard the Obscurus echoed back, listened to his command and _killed, destroyed_ …the creature obeyed him, just like those snakes that followed his command and attacked the annoying kids in the orphanage. And Harry was better than that, Harry was _powerful, deadly powerful_.

The dark, dangerous Obscurus. The creature he wouldn’t even dream to encounter. Yet here was one, lying unconsciously, with his soft lips slightly parted and long eyelashes fluttering. His scar was now under layers of bandage, messy dark hair spilling across the pillow.

_The boy was beautiful._

It was said the Obscurus was a manifestation of the repressed power, triggered by the negative emotions that reached its breaking point. For how long Harry had been an Obscurial? Was it because his relatives didn’t treat him well? Childhood abuse was said to be one of the reasons for young wizards to suppress their power consciously and Harry seemed to fit in the situation...however, there were still a certain amount of characteristics of his that didn’t fit at all…

The boy, always acting alone, stubbornly quiet and had an unhealthy tendency of helping other people even it would put himself in danger.

But deep down - Tom knew it, Tom could feel it - he was not the shy, lonely boy who he appeared to be. He was strong, energetic, a vigorous soul buried deep in his heart, driving him into a positive, outgoing personality. He had the spirit of a warrior, never obeyed the rules he didn’t like, never bent to the superior he had no respect for.

None of these a sign of a child who was broken by physical or psychological abuse. Not to mention it was a common claim that Obscurials rarely survived up to ten.

Was Harry special even in the sense of Obscurials then?

He had no idea whether there were any other causes of Obscurus. The Obscurus and Obscurials, they were all too mysterious. Rare creatures with very little information to research and somehow even forbidden to talk about.

That was why he must keep this secret – his beautiful, beautiful secret to himself. The boy was a gift from heaven. He would be his power, his weapon, his and _his only_. He could risk anything to keep him, including lying in front of Dumbledore, the Legilimency master.

Yes, Dumbledore…he was too interested in the _explosion_. He suspected, he probably had already known…nothing could slip away from that crooked nose, and that annoyed Tom.

If Dumbledore knew… that Harry was the Obscurial, that it was Harry who killed those people and buried them in the wreckage, the boy could no longer remain in Hogwarts. He would be sent far, far-away, the teachers – and the Ministry too - would never allow something so dangerous to stay in the school.

He must make sure that no one knew it. He was the only living witness - if there were others surely the rumor had spread everywhere already. The secret would be safe with him, as long as the boy himself wouldn’t tell.

Speaking of which -

The stupid, stupid boy, did he know what the consequences would be if he spilled the secret. He might have a little common sense of keeping secrets, yes...but there was still a possibility that old fox could trick him into giving them away…Not to mention Harry was not a good secret keeper, even Tom himself had known at least two secrets of his that he had accidentally slipped from his tongue - the ability to talk to snakes...the Occlumency barrier...

He must warn him of the consequences, with his Occlumency barrier he’d be safe from Legilimency but he must teach him how to answer if the interrogation came, even revise his memory if necessary. It was for his own good. He was trying to save the boy from a miserable life, after all, he was the only one the boy could trust.

Oh, yes, this was how he had them all planned.

And he only wished the boy would come back to consciousness tonight, before the time when he would be sent to St. Mungo tomorrow. Tonight would be his last chance.

=======

_…Rest, dream and recover…rest…_

_…I will take care of you…_

_…with another barrier…_

_…you will be safe…_

_…Rest…_

=======

A white ceiling.

Harry blinked. It seemed he was in the hospital wing again. It was like the time when he was hit by the crazy Bludger and lost all his bones in his right arm, waking up to pitch darkness and a house-elf sponging his sweat off.

He felt like he had been dreaming for ages. Sometimes he was in darkness, with only formless whispers surrounding him but none of them left a trace in his memory. Sometimes his dreams were more vivid, mostly about a young, dark-haired boy.

_Tom._ He registered. _He was dreaming about Tom._

Tom’s past in his orphanage as a little boy. Tom wasn’t always the popular, strong, confident prefect whom he knew of. He used to be small too - neglected, despised and bullied.

But it couldn’t be Tom’s past for real, could it? He didn’t even know Tom before he came to the 1940s, and surely the diary he had didn’t write anything in it. How could he know tom’s past in such detail then?

Maybe his dream was only a reflection of his own experience. He did have experienced all the loneliness and neglect after all. He must have mixed his own past with Tom’s and _imagined_ his life in the orphanage. _That must be it_.

Sighing in the darkness, he noticed a dark-haired head resting by his side for the first time he woke up. Board shoulder and long arms, it must be –

“Tom.” He reached out, touching the soft curls of his hair.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” yawning, and rubbing his eyes, the dark-haired head rose up. It was the first time he ever saw Tom _yawn_.

“You are finally awake, Sleeping Beauty.” with his curls still in a disarray, the older boy didn’t forget to tease him. He reached out to ruffle Harry’s hair, made the twelve-year-old’s hair even messier.

“How long have I been sleeping?” asked Harry. He allowed the older boy’s hand staying on his head, perhaps leaned into the touch a little.

“Three days.”

“Three…days???” in shock, Harry raised his voice.

“Shhh. Yes, three days, Harry,” Tom smiled, ”If you kept sleeping, you would probably be going to St. Mungo’s by this time tomorrow.”

“St. Mungo’s?”

“The wizarding hospital,” said Tom, “Anyway, how do you feel?”

“Better than ever, actually.” Harry tried to move. In fact, except for feeling a little weak, he had never felt this good in a week. The lump feeling and the pain in his chest had gone, he could breathe freely again.

“That’s a good sign. Do you remember how did you get here then?”

“We…we were in Diagon Alley. Four men after us…Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry, I should have listened…”

“No need to be sorry, Harry. You did the right thing. And we are back safely anyway. Do you still remember how we came back?”

“I…no…how? I remembered we were already cornered in the alley. How did we manage to escape?”

Tom’s smile widened at the question.

“You were hit by a Cruciatus curse, Harry,” said Tom, in a convincing tone, “A very dark curse. You passed out after that. It was very lucky of us that the Portkey activated just in time.”

“So, you brought me back, ” Harry breathed, “you saved my life, Tom, that’s…”

He was out of words. Tom had protected him, brought him back from the living hell, and apparently had stayed by his side ever since, _for three days_. Even Ron and Hermione had never done that.

“I believe a ‘thank you’ is in order, Harry.” the older boy only smiled wider.

“Th, thank you.” He stuttered. Gratitude and warmth filled his heart. He wanted to hug the older boy, showing how much he -

“You are welcome. Now I believe your snake misses you too,” Tom nodded to the small creature who was approaching Harry’s pillow, “It seems somehow it has found its way here.”

Harry turned to the direction Tom nodded, saw his snake approached him carefully. Its dark scale and golden eyes glittered in the dim light. He suddenly felt guilty for the little creature, for he had completely forgotten it.

_“You are awake, massster…”_

_“Thanasis, hi…sorry, I didn’t feed you…”_

_“It’sss fine…I can find food on my own…”_

“You know, sometimes I wish I could speak with them too. Then I could have someone to talk to back in the orphanage.” Tom smiled fondly at the boy and the snake.

The snake was now coiling contently by his side, seemed to be happy about the reunion.

Tom’s words reminded him of his dreams. Harry hesitated for a while, wondering whether he should mention them. Then he decided not to - they were _just dreams_.

“What’s new in school recently,” he asked instead, “and where is my wand?”

“Mostly about you, of course,” answered Tom, his hand reaching into his robes, searching for Harry’s wand, “that you were disabled, or dead already. Madame Copper did not allow them to come in so your status remained a complete mystery.”

He dragged out Harry’s wand from his inner pocket,

“Here, your wand. I’ve been keeping it for you. Your other belongings are already in your dormitory.”

“Thanks.” Harry reached out and took his wand over, thrilled at the sight of it. He thought about what Tom had said, sighed heavily.

“I wish I could just stay here. I don’t want to go back to my dormitory, nor do I want to face all the stare and questions.”

“Oh, but you must,” Tom grinned widely, “two things you promised, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah…going to the hospital wing and more talks with Slytherins,” Harry grimaced,

“Hey, since I’m in hospital wing now, I’ve already completed fifty percent - quite efficient right? I might need a little rest from that…”

“Ah, ah, don’t you try to escape from this. Although, you may have your rest until you get out of here, Harry.” Tom only chuckled, amused by Harry’s reluctance.

“Just send me to St. Mungo already.”

With another heavy sigh, Harry relaxed into the pillow. He played with his wand for a while, testing it with a wave. Then he noticed something was wrong.

“Tom, are you sure this is my wand? It doesn’t feel right.”

“Surely it is, what do you mean?”

“I can’t feel it. It shouldn’t be…”

Harry pointed his wand at a vase on the nightstand then waved – a swish and a flick – he whispered the simplest spell he used to learn.

_“Wingardium Leviosa.”_

Nothing happened.

No familiar flow of magic, no warmth where he held his wand, nothing.

But he hadn’t used the floating charm for a while, and he just woke up from a coma, it could be a reason not casting a spell properly, right? Figuring some other spells which he used more recently might work, he recalled that he had succeeded the Disarming Charm back in Diagon Alley. He pointed his wand at Tom –

_“Expelliarmus.”_

Still nothing.

“Give it to me.” Tom took the wand over. _“Wingardium Leviosa.”_

The vase floated this time.

“Your wand is fine, Harry.” Tom frowned, “It’s as good as my own, it must be -”

He hesitated, not sure whether he should finish the sentence. But Harry already registered.

He looked at his hands, shaking, his breathe hitching – he probably somehow had already known when he felt the emptiness in his dream – but it couldn’t be…it couldn’t –

He couldn’t use magic anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [Artika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artika_999/pseuds/Artika_999) for amazing nsfw art work!
> 
> [CHECK THIS!!!!](https://www.noelshack.com/2019-43-5-1572023627-tom-x-harry-by-artika-999.jpg)
> 
> I was literally sobbing when I saw it! It's SOOO CUTE!!!


	9. (Not) A Squib

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [EnjeruTantei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjeruTantei/pseuds/EnjeruTantei) again, for betaing!

_He remembered that unfortunate day, the day Ariana was attacked. His sweet little sister, so pure, so innocent. He remembered as she screamed out in horror and agony, waking from a nightmare. He saw the aura that surrounded the little girl, the aura that used to be gentle and light and warm and it–_

_Cracked._

_He was ten. The eldest son of Dumbledore hadn’t yet reached the age for school– not that any existing education would teach him about it – but he knew it. He was born with such power, a power that was granted to the minority. Only a very few wizards with such talent could see it._

_It was his sister’s magic he saw._

_And soon enough, that little girl’s damaged power which used to be pure and warm darkened and chilled. The exposed inside of the crack was soon contaminated by the sin of the world. The crack widened, until the contaminated part reached to its very core. It was then the innocent little girl who used to be happy and cheerful lost the light in her eyes forever._

_It was the universal rule— that once something beautiful and pure was damaged –_

_—It was destined to be damaged further, until eventually, completely broken._

_From that day on, he had foreseen the tragic fate that was awaiting his little sister, yet he could do nothing about it._

=======

Dumbledore stepped into hospital wing and gladly found the boy whom he concerned with, was awake already, just as Riddle indicated in his note.

He was woken by the sound of tapping at the window that morning. A school barn owl with a small parchment tied to his claw flew in just as he opened the window. The note, to his very surprise, was from Tom Riddle, whom he had a very unpleasant conversation with a mere few days ago. To his further surprise, the Slytherin informed him that the Granger boy was awake, in a manner that was both official and polite.

He didn’t waste even a second, quickly dressing and heading in the direction of hospital wing immediately. An ominous feeling followed him like a shadow as he passed through the corridors with haste.

It was _Riddle_ who’d sent him the note.

He didn’t trust even a single word that boy said during their conversation, and that was why he needed to inquire Harry about the event– the boy trusted him, respected him; he wouldn’t lie to him like the Slytherin, who was a fraud by nature –he would be able to dig out something if he phrased his questions carefully. And if everything had gone according his plan, it should have been Madame Copper, the matron of the hospital wing, who informed him about the boy’s status, _not Riddle_.

But judging by the situation, Riddle had certainly already met the boy, _talked with_ the boy before he could.

Had Harry been influenced by him already?

And what Riddle had indicated in the note was that—

_“ –Harry woke up at midnight.”_

Did Riddle even spend the night in hospital wing?

That Slytherin boy was up to no good; his cruelty and viciousness at the tender age of eleven was alarming enough that he could never forget to remind himself about the boy’s true nature. The perfect mask he was wearing might be able to fool others, but not him. The boy was cunning and calculating. It was highly uncharacteristic of him to take care of someone whom he had barely known for a few days in the hospital, unless he considered that person in question valuable enough, but what use could a twelve-year-old have to the Slytherin prefect?

And most importantly, _since when did they become so close_?

Dumbledore hadn’t completely discarded his suspicions that the boy could be a descendant of the Riddle family. The two boys grew so close in such short period that it was understandable, if his suspensions were true. The inherited magic power of blood relatives could always draw two wizards together; it didn’t matter whether they were aware of their connection or not. Usually, they would soon notice their resemblance, fitting in like a broken mirror finding the other half.

He arrived at hospital wing within ten minutes. Standing by the entrance of the hospital wing, he observed the boy from a distance. In the past few days, he had been fearing that something unfortunate happened to the boy that might be able to trigger him— the dark force of the Obscurus that destroyed half of Diagon Alley might be the boy himself – or why would Riddle try so hard to hide truth from him? It only deepened his suspicions when the boy’s aura kept swirling in unstable turbulence that Dumbledore couldn’t quite see clearly while he was unconscious. He had been waiting for the boy to wake up since his talk with Riddle – that when the boy’s status became more stable, he might be able to see his aura and whether there were the characteristics that belonged to the Obscurial, so that he might be able to confirm his hypothesis.

But when he saw the boy, all his concerns and suspicions were gone.

The boy’s aura, was just what it looked like a few days before - pure and intact, pulsing in a steady rhyme – no crack, no contaminant. _He was nothing like Ariana_.

He let out a breath of relief. The sight of Ariana’s collapse had been the nightmare that occasionally woke him up in the middle of night for ages. There was never a day that could be called peaceful in his life since that day. The deadly power of destruction that bursted out of his sweet little sister had been living in his memories vividly. He dived himself into the forbidden research field of Obscurus and Obscurial at a very young age to find a way to save Ariana. _Yes… Ariana, an Obscurial…_

Neither did his brother or his mother ever know what Ariana really was. He couldn’t afford to tell them the truth – how devastated they would be if they knew that most Obscurial —that Ariana – wouldn’t survive longer than ten years of age?

Surprisingly, Ariana managed to survive till fourteen… till the three-way duel with his brother and that man…

Dumbledore hastily halted his train of thoughts – he still couldn’t afford too much thought to linger on that man. He focused on the boy in the bed again. The boy, on the other hand, was staring out of window; he was pale as sheet and trembling with a visible tension.

_Was there something wrong?_

He cleared his throat to catch the boy’s attention, the boy raised to the sound immediately.

“Professor Dumbledore.” Harry called out, his voice trembling.

“Good morning, Mr. Granger,” the old professor smiled, greeting the boy benighly, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How do you feel?”

Before the boy could answer, a tall woman with a stern look came out from the room in the back. She was holding a tray, with bottles and jars in various sizes on it.

“Good morning, Professor Dumbledore.” the woman greeted, “you are quite well-informed. I haven’t had the chance to inform you that Mr. Granger is awake. In fact, I just found out myself a few minutes ago.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Copper.” Dumbledore nodded to the woman – Madame Copper – the matron of the hospital wing, “It was Mr. Riddle who informed me; he sent me a note this morning.”

“Ah, that boy,” Realization came to the woman, the stern expression on her face softened, “He stayed the night – actually, I barely make any exceptions, you know, but the boy insisted. Well, they must be very close. Who am I to say no to such a good friend?”

Dumbledore nodded with an expression of comprehension. He turned to the boy who was still in bed. A faint blush appeared on the boy’s sheet-white face.

“Tom left half an hour ago – to send you the note, sir,” said Harry, “Actually, I asked him to contact you. When I woke up last night I - ”

He stopped, reluctant to talk about his new problem in front of Madame Copper. The woman was a little squeamish as he had noticed this morning. She had been insisting that he should drink a dozen of potions and rest in bed for the whole day. The woman also wouldn’t cancel the appointment with St. Mungo. Even though Harry had claimed for thousands of times that he wasn’t feeling unwell – except he couldn’t use magic —but he definitely wouldn’t explain the situation to the matron until he could talk to Dumbledore privately first.

“Well, Mr. Riddle should have woken me up, if you were awake last night.” said Madame Copper, frowning deeply. She turned to Dumbledore, “We already made a reservation with Healer Lockhart. She will be here around three. And Mr. Granger—” she turned to Harry again, shoving a tiny bottle towards him, “You’d better drink this; it’s good for your nerves. Look at how pale you are. The cruciatus curse… Merlin… you can never imagine what else those devils might do, can you?”

Grimacing, Harry took over the bottle – the thick liquid in it looked disgusting, and he was sure the potion could do nothing to improve his condition.

What he needed, was a private conversation with Dumbledore. He had a feeling that this unusual condition of his might be related to his travel through time. His magic probably wasn’t gone —it’s there, he could feel it— he just couldn’t reach it anymore, like there was a _barrier_ cutting it off from his willpower.

He couldn’t talk about it in front of the matron – couldn’t risk it. Dumbledore had warned him that he must never, ever tell anyone else about his situation, after all.

“Mrs. Copper, I believe Harry is capable of taking care of himself,” said Dumbledore, whilst seeing the woman’s anger about to explode, he added hastily, “But of course, cautiousness can never hurt… well… when is the healer coming again?”

“Three o’clock in the afternoon,” answered Madame Copper, “I will not cancel it just because Mr. Granger is awake now. Who knows what kind of sequela the boy may have?”

“I appreciate your strong sense of responsibility, Mrs. Copper. But I do need to talk with Harry, _privately_ , you see —”

“Then I insist that you don’t stay too long here, professor Dumbledore. The boy is still recovering, after all.”

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore assured her.

A tired look filled the matron’s eyes, a mix of suspicion and reluctant acceptance, “If anything, just call me. I’ll be in the back room.”

The woman left with a grumble, seemingly annoyed by both the old professor and the young patient. Dumbledore turned to Harry as Madame Copper disappeared into the other room. They were finally alone now.

“Now, Harry—”

“Sir, I can’t use magic!”

That was certainly something Dumbledore didn’t foresee.

=======

“Are you sure, Harry?” Tom frowned, he didn’t understand, why did it have to be _Dumbledore?_

“Yes, please, Tom.” The boy pleaded eagerly, “This is important. He’s the only one who can help me.”

“You can trust me, Harry. _I_ can help you.”

“You don’t understand! Tom. I – I can’t! There is something… but — but I can’t tell anyone.”

“But you can tell _Dumbledore_?”

“He – he’s different, he’s the only one who can help. It has to be him.”

“Do you trust me, Harry? What wouldn’t you tell me? I did save your life a few days ago — ”

“It – it’s not like that, Tom. Look, I really appreciate that—”

“Then you _should trust me_ , Harry. I want to help. I don’t understand why does it have to be _him_.”

“I do! I do trust you, Tom. But it’s complicated, and – and Dumbledore is the greatest sorcerer in the world.”

Tom, had unmistakably sneered. _Stupid boy_. The boy’s confidence in that man was almost foolish – no, that old fool was in no way the greatest sorcerer in the world, he wouldn’t –

“Please, Tom?”

He met the boy in the eyes, the emerald, green eyes were watery and pleading —The boy had never been this vulnerable before.

“Fine, I’ll… contact Dumbledore for you. Around eight, maybe?”

The boy shook his head.

“No, I think he has morning classes, so eight would be too late. The sooner the better.”

“It’s not polite bothering a professor at an inconvenient hour, Harry.”

“I know, and I’m really sorry about it, but – he will understand, I mean, it’s Dumbledore.”

The boy’s gaze turned to the window, the sky outside was dyed pink already – it was almost dawn.

“It’s important. Please, Tom, could you—”

The last few words faded into whisper. The boy retracted his gaze; his face was ghastly pale, lips trembling, he looked so anxious and fragile. Although he claimed that he wasn’t unwell physically, he looked very much like an actual patient who’d been in bed for years.

“Fine, I’ll – find an owl to send him the message —” the older boy sighed heavily, “And I’ll head to breakfast directly, maybe I’ll return to see you at lunch, yes? Are you sure you don’t need to test more spells?”

“No, it’s fine. I think – I think this is it.” The boy whispered, his voice barely audible, “Thank you, Tom.”

“You are welcome. Get some rest. I’ll see you later today.”

=======

_That stupid, stupid boy…_

That old fool only gave him a few lectures - maybe paid him extra attention and favored him a little – and that boy trusted the old fool more than him? This was unfair – he was the one who took care of him, saved his life, accompanied him for almost _three days_ – and what did the boy do? He asked him to _contact Dumbledore for him!_ That boy had lost his magic, and _the first person he thought about was Dumbledore!_

_That little filthy, ungrateful –_

But _no, not now_. He couldn’t just snap like that – he had nearly lost his control in front of him – it was irritating, yes, but he had to know where did this boy’s blind belief in Dumbledore came from. It was necessary — he had to know what he lacked in order to gain the boy’s trust truly and thoroughly.

Listening to that confident, annoying tone of the boy when he claimed Dumbledore was the _greatest sorcerer in the world_. _How disgusting._ That title on a prejudiced, annoying old fool who would even –

Scowling, Tom went towards the direction of Owlery, imaging the old professor’s stupid face when he got the unexpected note from Tom. That conversation they shared a few days ago was enough for Tom wanting to avoid the professor eternally – he even skipped one transfiguration class, and Dumbledore didn’t bother to give him a detention for that – clearly that old fox didn’t want to see him either.

_That stupid, old Grynffindor who always–_

_But, wait, Grynffindor…_

_And wasn’t Harry’s mother a Grynffindor too?_

It could explain many things this way – that why the boy trusted him blindly, and why the professor paid attention to the boy even though the boy arrived at Hogwarts only a few days ago. There were connections – the Granger family had probably engaged in a relationship with Dumbledore before. Maybe Dumbledore was a family friend, maybe his parents had trusted the boy with the old professor before they faced their death.

But if the Granger family really had connections with Dumbledore – the deputy headmaster of Hogwarts, the man with great achievements and was considered as the most promising opponent against Grindelwald – Surely, they weren’t just a mere muggle-born family right?

_And considering Harry’s ability to speak Parseltongue..._

Was Granger even his real name? With Dumbledore’s help, it wouldn’t be too difficult to hide the boy’s true identity.

_Curiouser and curiouser…_

He needed to be more patient with him – the more effort it took, the bigger the award there awaited – he must hide… before he _ssstrike_ …

He soon arrived the Owlery, a curl lifted his lips as he made his determination. And someday, he believed, he would be able to see through all the mystery.

=======

“Couldn’t use magic, you said?” Dumbledore frowned.

_Curiouser and curiouser._

He didn’t expect it. He wouldn’t if he believed his judgement based on what he saw – the boy’s aura looked nothing similar to Squibs or Obscurial’s – he was perfectly healthy judging from his aura’s status.

But, now, the boy had just claimed himself to be -

“Yes! And —and it’s not my wand that’s the problem! When Tom tried it, it was totally fine. But when I —” Harry drew his wand out, “I’ve tried everything, nothing happened. I can’t even do the simplest floating charm – I have this feeling that I can’t reach it anymore.”

Dumbledore remained silent and took Harry’s wand into hand. With a casual wave, a bunch of flowers appeared at tip of the wand – it was a well-functioning wand indeed.

“Could you please try the spell again, Harry?” With another wave, the flowers inserted themselves into the vase. His gaze fixed on the boy and handed the wand over. The twelve-year-old bit his lip and took the wand, he breathed deeply and waved it —

A swish and a flick –

Wand movement – correct;

Incantation – correct;

But nothing happened.

“Sir, it —it still wouldn’t work.”

Dumbledore was deep in thought. He indicated to the boy to perform a few more spells —none of them worked despite of the boy’s perfect performance. After the boy tried again, and again and became even more frustrated, he was finally able to see a pattern.

The aura – the power of magic – was intact and healthy for sure, but what was lacking there was the _flow_.

A wizard’s magic worked like the streams of blood, flowing from core to limbs to wield the mysterious power. But with Harry, he couldn’t see the familiar flow – his magic was like a pool of stagnant water, quiet and dead.

_Curiouser and curiouser._

“Harry, I have to admit, this is quite strange.”

It was more of a whisper to himself. His gaze fell onto the boy – those emerald eyes, he noticed, were full of anxiety, fear, and desperation.

“Am I a Squib now, sir?”

He sighed, heavily. The boy had no idea what was happening to him. Neither did he. But he was the adult here; he should at least come up with something to calm him.

The boy was still expecting an answer, utterly confused by the unusual situation. But no matter how unusual it was, there was one thing for certain – his magic was still there, he hadn’t lost it. And as long as there was the source, he could eventually find a way to help him.

So, he faced the boy and shook his head firmly.

“My dear boy, I believe you are _not_.” said Dumbledore, his voice gentle and soft, “Please allow me to explain.”

=======

Tom, as he promised, dropped by at noon, bringing the only highlight of his day – a dessert taken from the Great Hall.

“Thank you, Tom. How did you know I like treacle tart?”

“Just a random guess,” The older boy shrugged, “How did your talk go?”

“Professor Dumbledore assured me that my magic was not gone – I don’t know why he was so confident about it… he suggested me to wait for St. Mungo’s healer.”

“So, nothing’s solved,” said Tom, in a tone filled with mockery.

“Not exactly. But professor Dumbledore said that since my magic is fine, it’s probably just temporary. I’ll have to wait to see what St. Mungo’s healer can do. Well, I do feel less anxious after the talk – it’s Dumbledore, after all.”

“You trust him that much, huh?”

“Of course, he is the greatest sorcerer in the world.”

The boy was busy with his dessert, losing the chance to notice as Tom’s expression went dark in that instance. He finished his tart in a haste, eager to talk more about his conversation.

“Although, he did ask me something strange, something about a dark shadow in Diagon Alley. What is that, Tom? Do you remember seeing it?”

“Not that I remember, no,” Tom shook his head, “Professor Dumbledore asked me the same question, I wonder what’s so important about it.”

“It probably happened after we left.” Harry wiped his hand, then he looked into Tom’s eyes, “Tom, why didn’t you tell me thirteen people died that day?”

“Because it was not important.” The older boy smiled innocently, “Nothing’s more important than the fact that you are now safe and healthy.”

“B – but, I didn’t know it was so dangerous…” the twelve-year-old stuttered, a faint blush creeping onto his face for seemingly no reason. He swallowed, managing to continue his sentence, “I mean, if you didn’t bring me back, I could have been one of them.”

The older boy eyed the twelve-year-old with curiosity, a glint of red light flickering in his eyes. But the boy didn’t notice, he continued -

“I believe I haven’t thanked you properly, but I promise, if there’s anything I could do for you —”

Harry straightened his back, a serious look on his face.

“ – I would do it, no matter what it may cost.”

The solemn declaration of the twelve-year-old earned a broad, victorious smile from the older boy. He reached out, ruffled Harry’s hair fondly.

“It’s a deal then, Harry. Don’t forget your promise,” said Tom, “I’ll have to leave now. And surely I will see you in common room tonight. Yes?”

Harry rolled his eyes and mumbled. Of course Tom was someone who took promises seriously and it seemed there’s no way for him to get out of that other deal with him.

=======

Harry remained in the hospital wing and waited for the St. Mungo healer that afternoon. The healer was supposed to arrive at three o’clock but no one had showed up when the clock struck three. Neither did anyone appear in the following two hours. Harry wasn’t allowed to leave hospital wing before seeing the healer, nor did he have any other business to attend to. He was utterly bored. Madame Copper, on the other hand, kept herself busy by checking in on him occasionally, forcing him to drink a potion or two, and frowning deeply when he asked questions.

“I did make the reservation for three, Mr. Granger. And no, it’s not rescheduled. She’s probably just overwhelmed. Healer Lockhart is very busy.”

“Healer…Lockhart?” repeated Harry slowly, an ominous feeling built in his stomach.

“Yes, it’s hard to make a reservation with her. She’s extremely popular these days, with many achievements at such a young age – you should see all conferences she has been invited to and papers she’s published – you can’t find anyone better than her at St. Mungo.”

Harry frowned deeply, questioning the matron’s judgement. It was also a _Lockhart_ who vanished all the bones in his arm once upon a time. Although this Healer Lockhart was an entirely different person, could it be possible that she was also an obnoxious attention seeker just like the other Lockhart whom he knew of?

=======

“Oh please, professor, I have never—”

It was already twenty past five when Harry finally heard a high-pitched giggle from the hallway.

 _That was probably Healer Lockhart then._ Though he was resentful due to the long wait, he couldn’t help his curiosity towards the relative of Gilderoy Lockhart. He waited nervously, craning to see who exactly Healer Lockhart was. Just as he intended to get out of bed, there entered a tall, blonde, middle-aged women, followed by Dumbledore.

“There’s my cute patient!” The healer greeted him with a wide smile, revealing all her teeth, with a little stain of lipstick on them, “Hi, I’m Olivia Lockhart. Call me Olivia, dear.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lockhart,” greeted Harry, hiding his resentfulness as much as he could – and _yes, she did look like Gilderoy Lockhart a lot_.

“Call me Olivia,” Healer Lockhart corrected, “Oh you are such a cute boy. Let’s start, shall we? Any pain? Nausea? Dizziness?”

“No, none of those.” Harry frowned, he had answered the same questions to Madame Copper this morning thousands of times. If she was here to ask these kind of questions, why even bother to come all the way to Hogwarts, “I used to feel a lump in my chest, though, now it’s gone.”

“Of course you did! It’s a symptom of pressure,” Olivia claimed proudly, in a matter-of-course way, “Now Albus, where was I…oh right! I know you are doing researches about dragon blood, I happened to be a little expert about that precious ingredient myself. You see, in St. Mungo, we—”

“Your patient first, Olivia,” Dumbledore coughed.

“Oops, sorry, I tend to grow over - excited at something I’m enthusiastic about,” Olivia covered her mouth - she must have considered this gesture to be cute, “Right, Harry, I hope you don’t mind…so any pain now? Maybe nausea? Dizziness?”

“You asked me these questions already— and no, none of those.” Harry was now openly sulking. What was Madame Copper thinking? Making a reservation with a _Lockhart_?

“Harry experienced an unfortunate event three days ago. He is now in a state of magical disorder,” stated Dumbledore, “I have probably mentioned it during our way here, in case you forgot.”

“Of course I did not!” Olivia’s face reddened a little, waving her hand casually, “A cruciatus curse huh? Not the first one to collapse under those nasty things, my dear boy. Like I said, Albus, plenty of patients came to St. mungo for—”

“I did not collapse under the cruciatus curse!” interrupted Harry, uncaring for his manner now, “I barely remember it. That lump in my chest was far worse than that, I could barely breathe and it hurt a lot. And now it’s gone and I can’t —”

“—Use his magic anymore,” Dumbledore completed the sentence for Harry. He looked at the boy, with an intensified curiosity.

“That’s PTSD then,” Olivia raised her voice and stated confidently, “Commonly seen.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Olivia smiled benignly, “Or at least that’s what muggles calling it. Not very familiar with muggle phrases, are you, dear Harry?”

“I was raised by muggles,” Harry glared at her, trying hard to suppress his surging anger.

“You see, when people experience something traumatic ( “—I was not traumatized!”) like yourself,” explained Olivia, “Strange things happen to our body, sometimes interfering with our magic core too. It’s just a brief mental disorder (“ – I am not mental!”), and it’s temporary, I assure you.”

“Are you sure, Mrs Lockhart?” Now it’s Dumbledore who was frowning, “It doesn’t seem to be that simple.”

“I am, Albus, I certainly am,” assured Healer Lockhart brightly, “I’ll get Harry some calming potions, as he’s clearly in a state of shock. Now I still have another appointment, if you would excuse me —”

“Healer Lockhart!” Madame Cooper came out of the inner room and called out, “When you told me you were going to be late, I thought– wait, are you leaving now?”

“Yes, Jane. The boy is fine! Just a little stress disorder, you can handle him yourself,” Lockhart flashed another toothy smile to the matron, ignoring Harry’s protest, “I’ll have his prescription delivered later, I believe you have those potions in your stock. Nothing special, really.”

“That would be great,” though a little hesitant, Madame Copper seemed to be relieved, “I’ll walk you out, may I?”

“That would be very nice of you, dear. Thank you.”

The pair of them walked out of the hospital wing. Their voice soon disappeared when the door was closed, leaving Dumbledore and Harry alone in the room.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder?” Harry stared at Dumbledore, in disbelief. “Professor, you wouldn’t believe in those bollocks – sorry – would you?”

“Of course not,” replied Dumbledore, in a whisper, “I have my own guesses. But be careful, would you? There’s certainly something more regarding— ah, this specific symptom of yours.”

Bewildered, Harry stared at Dumbledore in confusion, but the old man refused to share more of his ideas.

_How brilliant, this luck of his._

=======

Madame Copper drove Harry out of the hospital wing the moment she collected all the potions for him. And now with his school bag full of heavy bottles, Harry was wandering in the corridor, unsure about where to go.

_“ —surely I will see you in common room tonight, yes?”_

Harry recalled Tom's words and groaned—another painful mission for him to finish. Reluctantly, he allowed his legs to carry him towards the direction of Slytherin dormitory.

_Or maybe seeing Tom would make him feel better._

He really liked Tom. Despite his slight hostility towards the older boy in the very beginning, Harry felt mostly comfortable around him. It was nothing like the warm embrace of Ron and Hermione, but something about Tom always smoothed him, _attracted_ him. There was an invisible force, dragging him and anchoring him to the older boy.

Between them, it felt distant yet intimate at the same time. It was unique and fresh; Harry was sure he had never felt the same way for anyone else before.

Before Harry noticed, he had arrived at the entrance of Slytherin’s common room. He whispered the password he vaguely remembered, somehow wishing he couldn’t get in because of the wrong password.

However, it seemed the password didn’t change in the past days. The portrait slowly opened, revealing the den Harry had been avoiding so hard.

But he entered anyway.

=======

He didn’t find Tom in the common room. Neither did he see Prince, but that was fine, he wasn’t in a mood for Gobstone anyway.

The whole common room quieted immediately the moment he entered. Tom did tell him there were rumors about him in school, so this – the curiosity from other people - will probably become a part of life that he had to endure from now on. He surveyed the whole room, looking for a friendly, or at least a familiar face but failed – Of course he would fail, he didn’t really pay any attention to rest of his classmates during the short period since he came.

The hour was late already, and considering the heavy burden in his school bag, Harry was unwilling to journey all the way to library again, so he decided to take a seat anyway, maybe he could wait for Tom there, showing he was keeping his word, then he could restart his isolation tomorrow.

Yet finding that seat alone was no easy task, for most seats and desks occupied by others. He finally chose an armchair which was sitting at a little round table, while the other two at the table were occupied by two girls, who were looking at him curiously.

“Hey, I’m wondering, may I -”

“No, you may not.” came the lazy, drawling voice.

Deeply annoyed, he couldn’t help his fury at the unexpected intrusion. He turned and faced the owner of the voice, Abraxas Malfoy, who was smirking at him viciously.

“No one asked your opinion, Malfoy.”

“You should keep your little temper to yourself, Granger. If I were _you_ , I’d lower my head and learn how to respect.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes. He was speaking in a way as if he was implying something, while Harry couldn’t figure out what it might be.

“People like you don’t deserve my respect.” He retorted. He wasn’t afraid of Malfoy - _like grandfather like grandson_ \- Malfoy was nothing but a coward, a paper tiger that only appeared to be threatening.

“Careful, Granger. Rumors have spread, that you have become _a Squib_.” Instead of irritated, a cruel curl lifted Malfoy’s lips, “Squibs don’t even deserve a place around here, so you probably need to pack up your little self-esteem and get out of here, instead of finding yourself a seat.”

Harry paled. _How did Malfoy know?_ Only Dumbledore, Tom, Lockhart and maybe Madame Copper knew he’d lost his magic, who could possibly spread the word?

His courage started to falter, but he must not show his weakness. He poured his remaining strength into his words, wishing it sounded confident.

“Who told you that?”

“No one. Just a little guess.” Malfoy was sneering at him with an expression of victory, “Considering you have been hiding in hospital wing for three days, it’s just not surprising. Finally find out what you really are and how filthy your blood is, do we? Seriously, if you have any self-esteem, you should be on the train back, to your filthy old nest in London.”

Harry dragged out his wand, hand trembling. Malfoy laughed at the sight, dragging out his own.

“Why? Are we really in a duel now? Fine, let’s see how much _a filthy Squib_ can do.”

Harry’s fury nearly bursted in that moment, his arrogant tone, his stupid, pointed face - _Oh… he looked like Draco so much..._

“Your vocabulary is surprisingly poor - you really know no other words than filthy, do you?” said Harry, as calmly as he could, training his wand at the other boy, “What about you then, Malfoy? All your blood has is nothing more than this arrogant shit in you. You’ll have a same arrogant son, an even more arrogant grandson. But even a family of arrogant idiots like yours will finally crawl under someone who’s more superior, kneeling in front of someone who is more of a jerk than you. Where will all your pride go then?”

Harry was only half aware what he was talking about, his hatred towards Malfoy had reached a new level - the Malfoy family would be the future supporter of Voldemort. They were going to be the accomplice of the man who killed his parents, the mortal enemy of his –

_And that made Abraxas Malfoy his enemy too._

“Now this squib is talking crazy.”

A confused look appeared on Malfoy’s face – he wouldn’t know what Harry was talking about – but he was clearly irritated for his family being called idiots.

“I have no idea what you are talking about but I warn you, Granger, insult my family again and you’ll never see the sun tomorrow. Now, why don’t you cast your first spell? Let’s see what your little wood stick can do -”

He sneered –

“ – or are you scared, Granger?”

Harry inhaled, closing his eyes, he still couldn’t reach it— his fingers cold, an invisible barrier blocking his magic off, he just couldn’t, he –

_“—And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”_

_“—Throw it away and punch him on the nose.”_

“You wish.”

With the words out of the corner of his mouth, he struck forward.

A solid punch landed on Malfoy’s face, hard. The boy cried out in pain, collapsed on the ground with his hands covering his nose. His face scrunched into an ugly grimace. Harry could see blood streaming down.

And before everyone else in the room could react, Harry had already grabbed his stuff and stormed out.


	10. More Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is betad by the most amazing, wonderful [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid).  
> Many, many thanks and hearts :sluglove:

What should he do with his life?

His legs were heavy, his body was weary, his mind was tangled into a mess.

He rushed out of the common room without looking back, sprinted into the dark corridors and dashed upstairs without a clear destination in his mind – all the cells in his body were screaming _away, away, away_. He only slowed down when he realized there was no one after him – by then he was already floors away from the Slytherin dungeon.

Harry crashed into an empty classroom to take a short rest. Leaning against the wall, he took several ragged breaths to calm himself down. It was close to curfew, but he hadn’t even felt the slightest desire to go back – he had already passed the point of no return. How could he walk into that den of snakes again after all those things happened?

But where else could he go?

Absentmindedly, he walked into the dim, endless corridors again. He didn’t have the vaguest idea that how long he had been aimlessly wandering, but before he knew, he was already standing in front of the portrait of Fat Lady.

Unconsciously, he had let his legs lead the way to the Gryffindor Tower.

The woman in the portrait only eyed him suspiciously. She didn’t bother to ask him the password – the color of his tie had told her everything: the fact that he did not belong to the tower. He just stood there, squirming under the woman’s cold scrutiny. The corridor was filled with moonlight, as silent as the night itself.

It was maybe just his imagination, but in the dead stillness of the corridor, he could hear people talking and laughing from the other side of the portrait. Was it possible to hear them from the corridor? Were the Gryffindors always this loud?

He sighed, he wanted to hear more, wanted to stay, wanted to be on the other side, wanted to _come home_.

But it was not his home anymore.

“Sorry, I just...took the wrong turn...”

Despite all the desires in his heart, Harry only mumbled an apology, turned away from the portrait, away from the long, uncomfortable stare of the Fat Lady. The Fat Lady, on the other hand, didn’t say a word, but he could feel her gaze still heavy on his back, until he turned at the next corner.

But he didn’t go far – he remembered there was a spiral staircase nearby. It was quite an obscure place where people didn’t normally notice. Maybe he could stay there for a while to avoid teachers on patrol – he could rest, rub his sore legs for a little, and maybe think.

Think about what he should do with his life.

=======

“Harry. Wake up.”

There was a soft voice in his ears, and a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He must have fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the night, even though he had recently slept for three days, tiredness still caught him after a long, dramatic day.

In a daze, he opened his eyes, everything was in a blur, his glasses must have fell off during his sleep. He could only vaguely see someone there – someone in black and green and silver – until a gentle hand helped him put on his glasses; he could finally see the older boy properly.

“Hi, Tom.”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” said Tom, with a frown, “Well, not that I’m surprised to find you near the Gryffindor Tower, but how do you know where it is? It’s eight floors away from the Slytherin dungeon.”

“The inherited Gryffindor instinct, I guess.” Harry mumbled, still fuzzy-headed, but being together with Tom somehow soothed him, “You’ve been looking for me?”

“Yeah, apparently that’s what prefects do – bringing lost boys home.” The older boy sat down next to him, “But mostly, I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Tom.”

“I gave Malfoy detention, just so you know.” Tom shrugged, ignored the boy’s sulkiness.

“Slytherin prefects can give detentions?” the twelve-year-old finally turned to him, raised his eyebrows and looked at the Slytherin prefect suspiciously, “Don’t you think that’s a bit of…going beyond your authority?”

“Professor Slughorn is a busy man, Harry. He sometimes might want to…ah, goof off a little. Or he doesn’t want to be the bad guy when it comes to some people, you know.” said Tom, “That man is a collector. He handpicks pupils who he thinks have potential, or those who have famous relatives, and I have to say, he has a real knack for it. But of course, these students do not always behave. So, I get to be the bad guy when he wants to play nice.”

“That’s still – ”

“I should give you detention too, you know. You are the one who punched Malfoy on the nose.”

Harry stopped protesting immediately.

The other boy only stared at him. At first his face was stern, then – to Harry’s surprise – he started to giggle, which lasted quite a while and then turned into hysterical laughter.

Harry frowned, confused and a little irritated at the same time.

“So I punched him on the nose. What’s so funny about that?” asked Harry, with a hint of hostility in his tone. He had hoped Tom wasn’t laughing at him for solving problems in a violent, muggle way.

“Oh, it’s just…it’s really a good punch, you know.”

Tom wiped tears from the corner of his eyes, tried to suppress his laughter, “You should see him, lying on the ground, claiming that he was dizzy because of loss of blood. Crabbe and Goyle tried to help him up but he insisted to stay lying on his back and groaning _I’m dying, I’m dying_ – as if he was just ripped open by a hippogriff…”

It was a vivid scene that Tom had described. Harry, tried to keep his face straight, but the image of Malfoy lying and groaning on the ground was indeed hilarious. Though he tried, he could still feel a slight smile spreading over his face.

“And – and you should see the look on his face when I gave him detention – _Hey, Riddle! I’m the victim here! For Merlin’s sake, I lost like tons of blood! No one ever hit me before! Not even my father!_ ”

This time Harry couldn’t hold back anymore, Tom had done a great job imitating the arrogant, spoiled blonde – the tone, the expression, the gesture, even the muffled sound that came from a covered nose. He burst into laughter, joined the other boy’s merciless mockery. The moonlight that showered the whole stairs caressed the back of his neck, he felt something that was blocking inside his chest finally melted, into a warm stream that was running through his veins.

Oh, nothing could be compared with the sweet vengeance, it felt so nice.

=======

They stayed like that for a while. Harry told Tom about the meeting with Healer Lockhart. Tom, just as he expected, enraged at irresponsibility and unprofessionalism of the Healer.

“These are just regular potions for anxiety and depression, nothing special. You can always find them in the matron’s closet. Popular amongst students when it’s close to finals.”

“I guessed so, she did say my occasion was nothing special...Is it really so commonly seen? Is it really because of the curse that hit me in Diagon Alley?”

“I doubt it, Harry. The Cruciatus Curse can permanently damage a person only if they are under it for a long time. But when we were in Diagon Alley, it hit you for only a fleeting moment…Also, I think St. Mungo’s right now is short of competent Healers, so people like Lockhart would…”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked when Tom trailed off.

“I mean, Healer Lockhart, she’s apparently not professional enough to be a Healer in _St. Mungo’s_. But we are in war, Harry. St. Mungo’s is desperate for more Healers right now.”

“People kept saying that, a war.”

“And you just lost everything to it, yet you don’t seem to fear at all.”

“That’s just because I know it’s going to end, soon.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s late, Tom. Are you going back to the dormitory or not? You can’t stay here with me all night.”

“I come here to fetch you, Harry. I won’t go without you. We are lucky none of the teachers on patrol have passed by, or Slytherin would lose at least fifty points.” Tom frowned, deeply, “Let’s go back to the dormitory together, shall we?”

“No, Tom.” Harry shook his head, sternly, “I’m not going back there, ever.”

“Now that’s very childish of you.”

“Childish? Tom, I slept in the same dormitory with Malfoy, Black, Crabbe, and Goyle. I just hit Malfoy in the face – and he has Black as his clingy bestie, Crabbe and Goyle as his brainless sidekicks – they are so close that they practically share the same pants, Tom. And I don’t even have magic, what do you expect me to do? Going back and wait for them to slaughter me? No, thanks. I’ve spent almost ten years sleeping in a cupboard, I can find a broomshed somewhere, and that would do for me - and, yes, even brooms make better roommates than _Slytherins_.”

Harry finished his tirade in one breath, took a gulp of air and gestured Tom to leave. He didn’t need Tom to be the responsible prefect here – if Tom planned to drag him back by force, he could fight with teeth and nails.

But to his surprise, the older boy only sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“You don’t have to sleep in a broomshed, Harry,” said the prefect, “I know just the place for you.”

=======

It appeared to be an empty corridor on the seventh floor. There was a stretch of blank wall opposite an enormous tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet but nothing more. Harry turned to Tom questioningly, waiting for an explanation.

“This is the room that can give you _everything_ you need, Harry.”

“Umm, it’s just a blank wall, Tom. And I don’t think any room can give me a world of peace.”

Tom smiled slyly.

“Oh, but it _can_.”

Holding Harry’s hands, he led the twelve-year-old closer to the wall.

“What you need to do, Harry, is to walk past this wall three times, and think whatever you need. For now, you want a _world of peace_ , don’t you?”

He whispered the last few words into Harry’s ear, smirked as he pulled away. These words, were as if enchanted, sending a shiver down the boy’s spine, tempting him to follow his instruction.

So he did, and he was awed a moment later.

=======

“Why am I not surprised to see a room in Gryffindor colours?”

The Slytherin prefect stepped in, admiring the splendid work of the Room of Requirement. The room had appeared just before the third turn Harry wheeled around. It was round, filled with squashy armchairs, with a fireplace and a spiral staircase leading to a second stair. The whole room was decorated in crimson and gold.

“Is this the Gryffindor common room in your imagination, Harry?”

Harry didn’t answer. His mind was still brimming with fascination and wonderment. The room – the Room of Requirement, as Tom called it – knew exactly what he wanted. The whole space was a carbon copy of the Gryffindor common room in his memory, exactly like what he had remembered in every single detail.

“This is it. This is the world of peace I want.”

He whispered in a daze, still looking around the room, admiring how considerate the room had been. There even was a snake tank close to the fireplace, with little plants, stones, a hollow log, and a small pool in it. The tank was warm, probably magically heated to the temperature that was habitable for a snake.

Harry took out his snake from his pocket – he had been bringing it with him since he left the hospital wing – the snake hissed contently, and hid itself into the hollow log the moment Harry put it into the tank.

He then turned to Tom, only to find him smiling at him with amusement.

“Well, good to know I get to see Gryffindor’s common room for one time – even it’s only your imagination – You did ask a place to sleep, did you?”

“Yes! The dormitory is upstairs.”

Harry climbed up the spiral staircase with excitement and expectations – would it be just the way it was? Would it be exactly –

He was relieved to see five four-poster beds, which were hung with deep red, velvet curtains. He approached the one which was supposed to be his own – the color, the texture of the sheet cover, even the ink stain he accidently left the night before he entered the diary – it was just as he remembered. It was perfect.

“Look, Harry. It even summoned your trunk.” Tom pointed to the foot of the bed.

Harry widened his eyes – the second-hand trunk which was picked up by Tom that day in Diagon Alley was lying there innocently. He opened the trunk and checked – his stuff was all in there and more organized – it seemed someone had tidied things up for him.

“Ah, your trunk is just like what I have left with. Good job, Harry. Only when you are very clear about your needs can this room work for you so well.”

A warmth filled Harry’s heart. The room was blessingly wonderful, he couldn’t have appreciated it more – everything about it – and more importantly, he was truly grateful to Tom, who generously shared the room with him.

The twelve-year-old straightened up and met the older boy’s eyes.

“Tom, I – I didn’t expect this. This is miraculous. I can’t believe you are willing to share this place with me – How did you find it in the first place?”

“Long story. I found it not too long ago. I think none of the other people know about this and I’m only sharing it with you, Harry, because you matter to me,” said the older boy, genuinely. “ – and since this room is a total secret, I must ask you not to tell it anyone else, can you promise me?” he added, his tone becoming more serious.

“I promise.” The boy nodded earnestly. Tom seemed to be content with the answer.

“Well, since you have settled down, I guess this is where I wish you good night then, it’s time for me to – ”

He could have finished the sentence, if he hadn’t been interrupted by the boy, who bumped into him all of sudden, with his two tiny arms encircled him tightly – he was so small, the top of his head could hardly reach his chin – then the boy whispered, voice muffled in his uniform.

“Thank you, Tom. For bringing me this.”

_– for bringing me home –_

The older boy’s expression softened. He wrapped his arms around the boy too, just like that day in Diagon Alley.

“Anything for you, Harry,” he whispered, running his fingers in his wild hair, comforting him in the most caring way he could, “anything.”

=======

Though only a few hours, it was best sleep Harry had ever had since he came to this cursed era.

There was no dream, neither did he need to worry about his unfriendly roommates. He was surrounded by the familiar colours, the familiar scent, the familiar sight.

The only thing that was lacking was the familiar sound – the sound his Gryffindor roommates made when they rose up from their beds, washed and casually chatted about the coming day.

But what else could he ask? Wasn’t the room amazing enough to replicate the whole Gryffindor dormitory for him and him alone?

He buried his face into the pillow – the room also provided him a little clock, which suggested that it was time for him to go to class.

But he didn’t want to go.

He shuddered at the thoughts of meeting Slytherins after what had happened last night. He knew Slytherins – they were the type who would bear the grudge, they wouldn’t just let it go. And what should he do then? What should he do when he was left alone, defenseless and vulnerable?

He asked a world of peace, while outside his small world, he still needed to face all the devils he might know or not.

Harry turned over in his bed, gazing at the ceiling vacantly, thinking about every time when he didn’t want to go to school when he was little, when he used to be dreading for whatever Dudley and his friends would do to him in school before he leant how to dodge them quickly. And now the horrible feeling was back. There might be no Dudley in Hogwarts, but Malfoy and his friends were worse.

Because they had magic, while Harry didn’t. This must be the _fairest_ game of all time.

He thought about how many people would notice if he disappeared completely – the fortress Tom provided was perfect. The empty, fake Gryffindor dormitory could be his world of peace forever, since nobody but Tom knew about it. Unless Tom himself came here to drag him out, he could just stay here. And if he had wished properly, probably even Tom wouldn’t be able to enter…

But it would be extremely miserable and sad if he escaped the rest of the world completely.

Sighing heavily, he decided to get up – he was a Gryffindor for a reason – he would not hide, would not run away – even if he didn’t have any power to protect himself, he would stand up and fight like the Gryffindor he was.

Fight with the devils he might know or not.

=======

When he arrived at the classroom of Defense Against the Dark Arts, he was almost late for the class. But he wasn’t the last one.

“Hi, Prince.”

The last time he saw the girl seemed to be a lifetime ago. Prince turned to him as she heard him called. A complicated expression appeared on the girl’s face – she looked torn, as if in a dilemma whether she should greet the other boy or pretend she didn’t hear him. 

“Hi, Granger.” she finally managed to greet him back.

“Aren’t you going in? We are almost late, aren’t we? Come on, let’s go together.”

“I can’t go in with you together.” Prince avoided looking at Harry in the eyes, “It will look like we came to the classroom together, and Malfoy has warned us – _threatened_ us - ”

Oh.

It was like his primary school all over again – he was doing fine with Ben Wilson the day before, then the skinny boy suddenly wouldn’t talk to him the next day, because Dudley had _taught him a lesson_ …

And how wouldn’t the great, noble Malfoy heir do anything to banish the disgusting, filthy Mud-blood & Squib away from the House of Slytherin.

“ – warned you that none of you should be friends with me? That’s fine. I get it. I used to have this special treatment before.” Harry finished the sentence for the girl, coldly. “Why don’t you go in first? I can wait a minute or two, so it won’t look like we came together then.”

“OK, I guess that would work.” Dropping her head, the girl reached to the handle. But she didn’t push the door open – she hesitated for a few more moments.

“And Harry – ”

Harry was surprised to see Prince suddenly raised her head and called him – she had never called him by the first name before – but the girl looked determined.

“I think it’s fine if you still want to sit with me in Potions, I mean, there’re not enough tables. That can be used as an excuse, right? If we don’t talk much – ”

“Thank you, Prince. I will.”

A sad smile crept onto the girl’s face. Harry found himself smiling back too. Prince opened the door a crack and quickly slipped in. While Harry waited a few more moments after she disappeared behind the door, listening to the sound coming from the other side of the door anxiously, until it quieted down a little – a sign that Professor Merrythought might have started the lecture.

Then he slowly, lightly pushed the door open, slipped in just like Prince did.

All the whispers that were originally in classroom suddenly stopped, all of the people in the classroom turned to him – he could even feel the weight of stares on him. He swallowed, thickly. After briefly greeting the professor, Harry tried to ignore all gazes that pinned him to his position, walked in and found himself the furthest seat, and ducked his head into his textbook as quickly as he could.

“What are you all looking at? Haven’t I started the lecture already?” The professor’s stern voice came all the way from the other end of the classroom. Harry couldn’t help a shiver, the old professor had always reminded him of Professor McGonagall – strict, harsh and unaccommodating. He suddenly recalled she had included him into the practical session even though he didn’t have a wand – that class where he practiced wand movement with a fake wood stick would be engraved into his memory forever – and now since he already had a real wand, surely the stern woman wouldn’t allow him to skip practices this time. But once the practical session started –

Then everyone in this room would see the fact he couldn’t cast a single spell and know he really, truly couldn’t use magic.

“Today we learn about the Tongue-Tying Curse. This is a curse that ties the target's tongue in a knot, preventing them from speaking properly, which means it can be extremely useful in a duel. Can anyone tell me why?”

Professor Merrythought surveyed the classroom, before her gaze finally descended on - 

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Though he felt dreadful for the coming practical session, he still couldn’t help his curiosity – he needed to see what Malfoy looked like now – for Tom had described a quite hilarious scene, he had to know what damage he had caused to the blonde.

He lowered his textbook a little, peeping through pages.

Though all he could see was Malfoy’s back, he could tell the blonde’s right hand was practically stuck to his face – probably covering his nose or something – even when he was answering the question. Amused and feeling proud of himself, Harry hid a smirk behind the book.

“Because in that way the enemy won’t be able to speak the spell?”

Even the way he spoke was a little ambiguous – did he break his teeth too? Or was he just pretending to be injured so badly?

“Correct.” Professor Merrythought nodded, still looked stern, “Now remember to pay attention to class. You too, Black.”

The Malfoy heir and the Black heir had clearly been engaging in a discussion a moment before(Harry wondered what kind of evil plans they might be talking about), so the professor called him out, a warning for his lack of attention. And even the blonde had answered the question correctly, the old professor still glared at him. It was much like how Snape treated Hermione but worse – what Snape did was ignoring Hermione at most – but Professor Merrythought seemed to be really mad at Malfoy.

The whole class sensed the abnormal atmosphere and went quiet, an uncomfortable tension spread the whole classroom.

The old professor continued the lecture as if she didn’t notice, pacing amongst the students, occasionally dropping unexpected, difficult questions and mostly aiming at Malfoy – it seemed she was suddenly possessed by Snape, only the bullying target was switched to the blonde boy this time, and she seemed to enjoy it, especially when Malfoy failed to answer her questions.

“I really don’t know, professor! How do I suppose to know what counter-curse could be used? I don’t even know what counter-curse means!” The blonde snapped. Harry could see his ears all red, clearly frustrated. He had probably never been humiliated this way – teachers had been pretty nice to the Malfoy heir, especially Professor Slughorn.

“Tut, tut – family clearly isn’t everything.” the old professor sneered.

Harry had to admit he was enjoying these moments too. It was absolutely amusing to see Malfoy in frustration. But as the lecture continued, his anxiety was getting worse – how could he escape the coming practical session this time? There would be pairing, practicing, and throwing curses to each other. How awkward it would be if he waved his wand but nothing happened? Or worse, what if Malfoy and Black volunteered to pair with him and humiliate him in front of the whole class?

 _Maybe he could just call in sick and sneak out of the class._ Harry thought desperately.

“Now class, stand up. We will be practicing the spell for the rest of class.”

_Oh, great. Here it comes._

“Except you, Mr. Granger.”

Harry blinked, not sure about what he had just heard. Bewildered, he turned to the old professor for confirmation, who, to his surprise, was nodding to him approvingly.

“Why except him, professor?” exclaimed Malfoy, he sounded extremely disappointed and somehow seemed to forget the fact that the professor had been picking holes in him for the past forty minutes.

Professor Merrythought, on the other hand, turned to the blonde, her nostrils flared –

“Because he is unlike you, Mr. Malfoy. He was brave enough to disarm a dangerous, grown-up dark wizard to save a poor man from his miserable fate. While you, Mr. Malfoy, are only courageous when picking bones with your defenseless classmate.”

Harry gaped – this was so Hogwarts: they weren’t there when things happened, but naturally everyone in the school knew what had happened – the news spread just this fast. Like in his first year – what happened down in the dungeons between him and Quirrell was a complete secret, then when he woke up three days later the whole school suddenly seem to know about his little adventure, even the sorcerer’s stone which had been secretly hidden for a year.

“Albus has told us all about it. It was very brave of you in Diagon Alley.” The old professor smiled approvingly to him, “And about your injury too. I do hope you will recover soon. You don’t need to force yourself into anything, just listen to the Healer’s word – none of us teachers would ask you to practice spells from now on, you can focus on theory first. With such potential and talent, I believe you would catch up soon when you recover.”

Harry nodded, hesitantly – if she was talking about his inability of using magic, then sure, he was maybe injured indeed, but why mention the Healer, the Healer didn’t give him any useful advice –

Just as he was about to correct the professor, she turned to the rest of the class.

“Just as I said before the class, Mr. Granger needs his convalescence – the Medi-wizards have suggested him not to use magic during the period, for any disturbance to his core will cause severe consequence, which is why I demand all of you to be friendly to your classmate – support him, help him and DO NOT pester him by any means – including dragging him into a duel – it is not noble to fight someone when they are defenseless.” She eyed Malfoy dangerously, “I know what it is like to be in the Slytherin House – that how your little prejudiced society works – and to my own opinion, _I could not despise it more_. The powerful and the noble are not determined by their origin. So long as I’m still in this school, I will not allow any form of school bullying in Hogwarts.”

The old woman finished the tirade in an icy fury. The class – mostly Slytherins – shifted uncomfortably.

Harry felt a warmth running through him – Professor Merrythought, who might seem to be stern and strict, was clearly a fair and warm-hearted person deep inside. And Professor Dumbledore had been helping him too. The wise, old man who knew the truth about Harry’s inability also knew too well about humanity – he had thought about the mistreatment the boy could possibly face if the truth was revealed. Therefore, he twisted Harry’s incapability into a temporary inconvenience that was emphasized by the Healer – not “he lost his magic”, but “he couldn’t use magic temporarily so he could recover from whatever injury that was caused by a dark wizard”. It didn’t really solve the problem, but for now it could serve to avoid the unwanted questions and the possible contempt and malice towards him once people had found out he could no longer cast a proper spell.

“ – therefore I expect every one of you to help Mr. Granger to go through the most difficult time of his. We teachers have agreed to keep an eye on him, if any accident happens to him, those who caused it –” the old professor’s fury gaze fell on Malfoy again, “ – will face severe punishment.”

The blonde looked as if he was insulted. He glared at the old professor but didn’t dare to retort a word. Now if Harry looked closely, he found it almost comical to see Malfoy in such a state. As Tom said, it really was a good punch. The blonde’s nose – as well as most of his face – was covered under thick gauze. He looked aggrieved and was visibly trembling. His face – the visible part – was in a deep shade of red. His mouth opened and closed for several times but he was unable to put anything into words. It was hilarious, for he was the one who was actually suffering from physical injury here.

It required his best effort to suppress a smile. Harry managed to keep his face straight, trying to look as grave as he could.

“Mr. Granger, as you may know, Hogwarts will support you to the fullest amount. If anyone in the school ever tries to harm you, please don’t hesitate to come to me.” Professor Merrythought turned to Harry and offered. Harry could tell the sympathy in her voice, “Now, why don’t you find a seat and start to do your assignment? As I said, you won’t be included in the practice session until you are fully recovered from the current situation. If any problem, just find me in my office, anytime would be fine.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Harry. He couldn’t believe his luck. He could keep his unfortunate secret – even if it was temporary – and having the teachers to seek help from if he was threatened. It was unimaginable for him before. He never thought about turning to the teachers when he was bullied in primary school. He knew well enough that Uncle Vernon had spoken ill of him in front of the teachers and they weren’t any friendlier than Dudley and his friends.

He didn’t expect it, but somehow the Hogwarts in 1942 had finally felt more like home now.


	11. Alphard Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks and hearts to my wife and beta [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid),  
> And this is the first time I've ever tried to update in the morning, thank you for making my life healthier.

Just like Professor Merrythought promised, she never included Harry into any practical sessions from then on. It was not only the old DADA professor - in fact, rest of the teachers all seemed to understand Harry’s dilemma and started to avoid any of the circumstances that might require the boy to wave his wand. Even Professor Beery, who taught Herbology, demanded Harry to stay away from dangerous plants in case the boy couldn’t protect himself from accident. 

It was not just that. Harry was surprised to find that the teachers were extremely nice to him now – smiling and nodding to him when they encountered in the corridors, giving him extra points when he answered the question correctly. Especially Professor Slughorn, who seemed to feel guilty for skipping his duty of accompanying him to Diagon Alley that day. The Potions master even shoved him a box of his favorite crystallized pineapples when other students were not looking. It seemed that Harry suddenly became the favorite of all teachers, which, of course, only intensified Malfoy and his little gang’s fury and hatred towards him.

Malfoy’s gang, which was mainly composed of Harry’s former roommates – Malfoy, Black, Crabbe and Goyle – had never really given up their revenge. The blonde had sworn that Harry must pay for his broken nose and the humiliation he suffered in Defense Against the Dark Arts that day. Harry could see how teachers treating him nicely annoyed them, and how they tried to hide behind corners, waiting for a chance of a surprise attack when he was alone. It was lucky that Crabbe and Goyle were too bulky and clumsy, so Harry could always notice before their malicious intentions caused any consequences.

For a slightly different reason, Harry had been avoiding the Great Hall, too. It was not like Malfoy dared to attack him under the nose of the teachers at the staff table. The blonde had used a different strategy to make him suffer, and Harry had learnt his lesson the first day he tried to go to the Great Hall.

He went to the Great Hall for dinner that day – he already skipped lunch because he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he sat down at the Slytherin table, especially after the drama in the earlier DADA class. However, the Room of Requirement, as miraculous it was, couldn’t provide food. Though he desperately wanted to avoid the Slytherins, he couldn’t avoid starvation. But just as he sat down at the already crowded long table, all the students who sat nearby suddenly stood up and escaped, leaving a circle of empty seats surrounding him. On the other end of the long table, Malfoy smiled viciously to him.

It was utterly embarrassing and humiliating. So Harry took it no more, stood up and left the Great Hall without looking back. He starved for the rest of the day, determined that he’d never step into the Great Hall again, until Tom taught him how to find food in the kitchen the next morning.

“Remember, Harry, you need to go through the door on the left-hand side of the marble staircase, into a stone corridor, where you’ll see a suit of armour nearby.” Tom gestured as they entered a pleasant-looking corridor which was brightly lit with torches and decorated with cheerful food-themed paintings. “Ah, this should be it. The painting of a fruitbowl. Now tickle the pear, Harry.”

It was the second surprise the older boy had brought him within three days’ time – first a place to survive, then a place to find food – seriously, what could he do without Tom…

They entered an enormous, high-ceilinged room. It was as large as the Great Hall, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and an enormous brick fireplace at the other end. There were hundreds, hundreds of little creatures bustling in the room. They were all about three or four feet high, with large, tennis-ball-like eyes, pencil-like noses and bat-like pointed ears – 

“So, so many Dobbies!” Harry gasped.

“So many _what_?” 

“Dobby, I mean, the house-elf,” Harry tried to explain, still overwhelmed at the sight of the bustling creatures, “a friend of mine.”

“Friend with a house-elf, huh?” said Tom, eyeing him suspiciously, “They are servants in Hogwarts. Every time you need help, just come here and they will provide everything you need. But seriously, if you think you can escape - ”

“I’m not trying to escape, Tom,” the twelve-year-old snapped, “I’m doing Malfoy and his cronies a favor. If they hate me this much, they don’t need to see me unless it is inevitable.”

The older boy didn’t reply, only looked at him emotionlessly. It was hard to tell whether Tom disapproved of him or not, but Harry was relieved that he didn’t try to argue. 

But aside from the extra help he got from Tom, Harry still felt his life was cursed. Teacher’s affection wouldn’t stop students isolating him. Malfoy, who might seem to be nothing special, certainly possessed an invisible power over _everyone_ in the junior years of the house of Slytherin - _over him_ , the very bottom of the pyramid of a prejudiced little society. 

He felt like an isolated island, floating in the endless sea, all he could see was the unreachable, far-away horizon, alone and lonely.

  
  


=======

If there was anything the twelve-year-old boy had been looking forward to, it would be the flying lessons.

The flying lessons in second year were arranged on Monday. Since Harry’s first week started on Wednesday, and he had unfortunately slept through the whole Monday and Tuesday in his second week, he would be having his first flying lesson in the third week of the new term.

He missed the sky so much – the wind, the height, the wild excitement – it was the only comfort he could have when he was in the cage of the 1940s.

Yet Harry was again the latest to the class (it took him much longer running all the way from the seventh floor to the ground). When he arrived, he could already see a small sea of green and – red. 

Right, he had forgotten that Slytherin was having flying lessons with Gryffindor.

The students were standing neatly in two lines in front of a short, gray-haired man, who seemed to be in his forties or fifties. He looked down at Harry with a gentle smile on his broad, slightly wrinkled face.

“You must be Mr. Granger. I’ve heard rumors about you,” said the man, a clear curiosity twinkling in his eyes, “I’m Matthew Bagman, Quidditch referee and coach of Hogwarts, flying instructor in this class. We are just about to start, you may join your classmates now.”

Harry reluctantly followed his instruction, feeling his stomach grew heavier with every step as he approached the line of Slytherins. The excitement for his first flying lesson had slowly drained; he had forgotten that he was still in a pit of dangerous snakes, who – at least some of them – were still awaiting their revenge. 

“ – Like I said last class, during this year, our goal is to acquire the skills of fast laps and weaving. By the end of the year, I expect you to demonstrate both speed and agility, you would also need to acquire the skill of making quick turns while also keeping the broomstick steady…”

Harry listened absentmindedly, eyeing Malfoy from the corner of his eyes. The blonde looked, well, smug, just like Draco did in his first flying lesson. Harry remembered how Draco had told long, boastful stories about his little flying adventures. He stopped looking smug after Harry entered the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Instead, he had cast hateful glances at Harry in every flying lesson since.

Abraxas Malfoy was probably just like his grandson, more experienced than average second years in flying. He might also believe that skills and experiences in flying could count as his superiority over others – not every kid from a half-blood or muggle family could have the chance to fly every day.

“Last class we did a little warm-up, which was quite disappointing. It seems some of you have already forgotten how to ride a broomstick properly. What was more disappointing was, I saw nothing passionate in you. Well, I don’t expect all of you could be a Quidditch player in the future, but I do hope you all appreciate the beauty of the sport.” 

Although the man’s tone sounded serious, a big smile still bloomed on his face. He raised his wand, announced merrily, 

“Today we play a little game.”

He waved his wand, and a large, glowing sphere appeared at the height of the sixth floor. It expanded until its diameter reached the length of a tennis court. The coach waved his wand again. A glowing ring appeared in the middle of the sphere, vertically separating the sphere into two hemispheres. 

All the students craned their necks to see the magical sphere that was glowing in the sky, speculating what the coach planned to do with it. The coach nodded, apparently content with the magic. 

“There we are, class. That is our court. The real Quidditch rings are too high for us, and too far-away for me to keep an eye on all of you. So I made this – we play in teams within the range of the sphere. It also serves the function of the Cushioning Charm, so if any of you fall, I don’t need to worry about broken necks.”

Harry looked at Mr. Bagman suspiciously. He sincerely doubted it. A glowing sphere didn’t seem to be reliable security for the upcoming danger in the flying lessons (look at Neville, who broke his wrist in his first class). But he still felt excited, he almost hoped he didn’t hear the sentence before, that they needed to – 

_“– play in teams – ”_

The coach smiled broadly as he conjured a ball which was slightly smaller than a Bludger, then continued explaining the rules.

“- two teams, two or three people each – you can pick up people you like to form your team; you can also pick up your opponent to battle with. The goal is simple – shoot the ball through the ring in the middle with a bat – if your team failed to do so, your opponent wins a point. The first team to have won three points in total wins the game. Is that clear?”

It sounded challenging for second years but absolutely fun. But Harry’s excitement had disappeared completely. It seemed this class had to be another demonstration to him too, because he wouldn’t be able to find his own teammates – no one would want to team with the filthy Mudblood Granger – no, they wouldn’t want to challenge Malfoy…

His classmates started to look for their teammates eagerly under the coach’s instruction. Harry wasn’t surprised to find himself left alone again after a small turbulence. He saw Prince, who was grouping with two other girls. She tried to wave to him but was stopped by one of the girls at her side. The girl shook her head to Prince gloomily.

Oh, wasn’t that just brilliant? 

“Well, Mr.Granger. You may stay on the ground this time, I understand this might be a little advanced for you, considering you have probably never flown before…”

“He can be with me, Mr. Bagman.”

Harry heard a cheerful voice coming behind him. He turned around and saw a dark-haired boy. He was tall, a pair of gray eyes glittered merrily, he looked like – 

“Mr. Black, you are late again.” said the coach.

“Sorry, Mr. Bagman, but I know even if I burnt your broomstick, I’d still be your favorite. I’m just a few minutes’ late this time, surely you wouldn’t be too mad at me, would you?” 

The reply sounded too casual and rude as a reply to a teacher, but the coach didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, a small smile still crept onto his face despite his effort trying to look stern in the first place. Apparently, they were more like old friends rather than just teacher and student.

“Fine, Alphard. But don’t burn my Comet 130, it’s the latest model. If you are playing with Mr. Granger –”

“Alphard!”

Someone cut in angrily. The owner of the cold voice – Orion Black – stepped forward, glaring at the new boy – Alphard Black – warningly.

“How many times have Uncle Pollux and Aunt Irma taught you about it? I warn you, cousin, you wouldn’t want to violate –”

Orion eyed Harry with disdain – the glare spoke for itself – the noble and most ancient house of Black wouldn’t want to involve themselves with people like _him_. 

“Oh, come on! Can’t you just be fun for once? And stop all your noble house of Black crap, Orion. This is not Grimmauld Palace. And I’m not only going to team with him, I’ll beat you and Abraxas with Harry as my teammate.”

Harry blinked, wondering how he was suddenly involved in a domestic conflict between two Blacks – and why was he suddenly on first-name basis with one of them?

“If so, I’ll have to remind you then, Alphard,” said Malfoy, who was now standing side by side with Orion Black, “This _Muggle-born_ has probably never seen a flying broomstick before, they use them to sweep floors, you see –”

“Even Harry has never flown, I can still beat you,” Alphard only narrowed his eyes, “I can beat you with only one hand holding the broomstick. Dare to take a bet?”

Harry turned to the coach, who was, to his surprise, smiling fondly and watching his three students gambling with intensified interest. Compared with some professors, he was apparently very accommodating. 

“Of course, I highly doubt your odds, though.” Malfoy laughed, then he turned to the coach too, “Mr. Bagman, can we go first? As a demonstration?”

“Of course, of course. Who am I to say no to young, passionate hearts? Although I’m a little worried about –”

The coach looked at Harry with concern, clearly worrying whether the new Muggle-born boy – who seemed to be in his very first flying lesson – would be fine. 

And to the coach’s surprise, Harry smiled.

“Don’t worry. Mr. Bagman, I’ll try not to _fall_.”

  
  


=======

  
  


“Remember, the aim of the game is to hit the ball, and let it fly through the ring in the middle. If you miss the ring, your opponent wins a point; if you fail to make a legal return, your opponent wins a point too. You can only fly within the range of your serve area and if any part of your body touches the barrier or you fly to the other side of the ring, your team loses a point. The first team that wins three points wins the game. Here’s your bat. Let’s make it quick. Others might want to play too.”

The couch handed each of them a bat. The bat was lighter than those used by Fred and George. Harry wiped off the sweat in his palm before he took the bat, excited – he was finally about to fly – 

“Hi, Harry. I haven’t introduced myself – I’m Alphard Black, cousin of Orion.” The dark-haired boy patted Harry on the shoulder, “Sorry for dragging you into this, but don’t feel pressured, if you haven’t flown before, you just simply –” 

“It’s fine, Alphard, I have flown, several times.” 

“Oh, _oh_ \- that’s a relief then, so you can just circle around –”

“It’s really fine, I can play.” Harry answered briefly. It started to annoy him that people assumed he knew nothing, treating him like, well, an eleven-year-old newbie in Hogwarts.

“Are you boys ready?” yelled the coach, “Now listen to my whistle, on three – two – one –”

He blew the whistle. All four of them kicked off the ground and leaped into the sky. For the first time in weeks, Harry felt a weightless joy swelling in his chest – the sky, the scent of grass, warm sunshine, the air rushing through his hair, and the beautiful castle in his sight – 

Malfoy served first. He tossed the ball into the air and hit it with his bat. The ball soared through the ring, flying directly at Alphard.

Harry guessed right – the blonde looked confident in the sky, he had apparently flown many times before. But he wasn’t as skilled as his grandson, especially in balance. His broomstick tended to skew a little. Harry wondered whether it was also because the broomsticks were not as advanced as the ones in his time.

Alphard returned the ball with ease. The ball flew to Orion’s direction. Even with a distance, Harry could still see the dark expression on the other Black’s face – he seemed to be angry, very angry…

The ball flew back, to a direction that would be too far for Alphard – 

Harry tightened his grip on his bat. He had never beat anything on a broomstick. Judging from how other boys played, the ball should be much lighter than a real Bludger, or none of the second years would be able to shoot it that far. Hitting it should be much easier than what a Beater did. He had seen how Fred and George trained for so many times, the key was not how strong their arms were, it was the twist in their bodies – you’d need the core strength…

“Nice one, Harry!” 

Harry beamed at Alphard, who yelled out in surprise. Harry’s ball shot right past the space between the two boys of the other team, winning them the first point. He didn’t miss the chance to see the astonished faces of Malfoy and Orion.

Oh, this was going to be so fun.

  
  


=======

  
  


His boy could fly…

With his chin on one hand, Tom looked out of the window with interest. He recognized the glowing “court” that was floating in the air immediately. He had seen it before, the Quidditch coach always liked a little trick to make his class easier.

Initially, he had only opened the window for a little fresh air – Professor Binns’s droning, reedy voice was hypnotizing, and not even a prefect could resist the alluring call of Hypnos.

It was then that noise coming from the ground caught his attention. He heard high-pitched voices yelling the name of a second-year Slytherin – “Alphard” – wasn’t it? He looked in the direction where the voice came from and not surprised to find it was the second years who were having their flying lesson. But then his eyes widened – because he recognized his boy there, in the glowing court, playing with three other boys.

It seemed to be a boring game, where his boy and the other three boys – the Malfoy boy and the Black cousins – beat a ball through a ring back and forth. His boy – the smallest one – was flying freely like a bird, occasionally diving and taking sharp turns cleverly, beating the ball with a bat that was too large for him. He never missed a catch. All his shots were fast and firm. He was so much better than the other three – even him, who had never been interested in Quidditch could tell. 

So he opened the window a little further and took a deep breath, allowing the breeze and the scent of autumn to fill his nasal cavity. It was only a stupid History of Magic class, and he had memorised the part of the lecture already; he was allowed to be distracted a little, allowed to let his mind wander to the open ground, to the place where his boy was spilling his sweat enthusiastically…

He had never found the scent in the autumn breeze, the landscape that could be seen from the window, and the sport he once thought was boring and stupid so fascinating.

  
  


=======

  
  


The game continued for another twenty minutes. Some of the students had lost interest and asked the coach to make another sphere to start games of their own, but most students stayed to watch, screaming and cheering at the top of their voices.

Both Malfoy’s team and Harry’s team had won 2 points – they would need a tie-break to finish the game - one more point to decide the winner and loser.

It was Orion who served this time. The ball flew to Harry’s direction – it was an easy one, but just as Harry was about to hit the ball – 

The ball suddenly changed its direction, soaring upwards. Harry narrowed his eyes and soon found Malfoy, who hadn’t put his wand away yet. The blonde smirked, clearly very proud of his trick.

Of course it was Malfoy – since when did Malfoy start to play fair and clean?

But it didn’t matter, for the ball was still within the range he could catch and hit it through the ring. If it flew too high, he could pass it to Alphard – beating it downwards was always easier than upwards. But he needed to be quick, or the ball would fly pass the barrier of the sphere – the coach didn’t set the rule that they couldn’t use their wands in the game; it was possible he would still judge the other team winning if he failed to catch the ball.

Just as Harry was about to pull his broomstick up, the ball halted and started to drop at a speed that was much faster than it should – so fast that it would soon drop to a level where it would be too low beat it back. Harry surveyed from the corner of his eyes – Alphard was too far-away and too high above. He doubted he would be able to hit the ball upwards for at least ten feet to let the other boy catch, but if he dived fast enough, he might still be able to reach a height which was still possible to shoot the ball pass the ring.

A challenge then.

He dived – this was like his first class again, a ball to catch, the same nasty smirk on the blonde’s face, the wind that whistled in his ears when he dived, people screaming, the twist and turn and – 

Swirling.

_The swirling._

It suddenly blurred. Everything – the glowing court they had been playing in, the ring, the ball, the three other boys, people on the ground – all blurred into clumps of colors around him.

_The world was swirling in front of him._

_Or, was it him who was swirling?_

_He was weightless, he could go as high as he could._

_He didn’t need to worry about falling. He had a broomstick now…_

_This felt so familiar, ssssso familiar…the wind, the twist and turn and …_

_Memories…_

_Memories in Diagon Alley that day…_

_Memories where he was also surrounded by blurring colors, roofs, wreckage, green and red lights, dead bodies…_

_Memories that he couldn’t recall clearly…_

_It was like seeing through a poor-quality television – the distorted images and sounds of a wrecked street – and he was in the sky. Why was he in the sky? He didn’t buy a broomstick that day…_

_And emotions - loneliness, agony, horror, anger, confusion, and hatred…And there were whispers…_

_Whispers that were sweet and dark and alluring and -_

_…Lisssten … lissssten to your inssssstinct… Harry……_

_……Lisssten to what your heart screamsss……_

_…… Look at thessse pathetic people……_

_…look how much they resemble insectsss…_

_…How they dessspissse you…_

_… issssolate you, hate you…_

_Don’t you want to revenge?_

_Don’t you want to…_

_……attack them……_

_…destroy them…_

_…Sssslaughter them…_

_And there was darkness._

  
  


=======

  
  


“Harry! That was amazing!”

Harry blinked, waking up to the breathless voice of Alphard Black. He must have acted out of instinct, hit the ball back and – 

“We won! Harry!” the boy’s enthusiastic cheer echoed in his ears. 

He blinked again, stupidly. He could see the stunned faces of Malfoy and Orion – clearly they didn’t expect Harry could return the ball from a height that was nearly impossible – He was almost at the edge of the serve area. The ball was now lying harmlessly on the ground, Mr. Bagman summoned it with a wave of his wand.

“Bravo! Mr. Granger! Nice catch! That was genius! I haven’t seen anyone fly and beat a ball like that in years! Not even in my years playing as Beater in English National Quidditch team! Did you see how he turned in the air, class? That was the agility I talked about!”

Alphard bumped into him in the middle air, hugging him as they descended on the ground. While Harry, still in a daze, didn’t react until the boy was grabbing his shoulders and shouting into his ear.

“ – after all these years! Finally! A decent player! You should sign up for the Quidditch team! They are holding the trial on the last Saturday of this month! Come on! Join the Slytherin team with me! You and I together, there is no match Slytherin can’t win!”

Harry, who had finally came back to himself, turned to Alphard. He was having trouble processing the boy’s excitement. Did he not notice? How could he be so thrilled, when everything under the warm sun was so cold and cruel. 

What happened to him? What exactly happened in Diagon Alley that day?

He tried not to puke, suppressing the nauseating feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t speak for a while. But when he finally managed to, he only responded in a whisper; his whole body trembled violently.

“Thanks, Alphard, I think I’m good.”

“Why? You are absolutely amazing - ”

“I don’t think I want to fly anymore.”

And he absolutely, definitely wasn’t lying about it.


	12. The New Slytherin Seeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm one day earlier but Happy Lunar New Year.
> 
> 3000 thanks to amazing [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid)  
> for the encouraging beta

Although Harry didn’t really want to go, Alphard still successfully dragged him to the Quidditch trial on the last Saturday of September. But when the boy asked Harry to sign up for the Slytherin team again, Harry rejected firmly, exclaiming himself not interested at all, and no one in Slytherin would want a Muggle-born boy to play for them anyway. 

“OK…you’ve got a point. But you must come and see! Maybe you’ll be interested next year? And people change, you know. We really, really need someone good here…”

“Thanks, Alphard. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be…Anyway, what position are you applying for?”

“The Seeker, of course! The spirit of the team, the most critical role of all!”

Harry wasn’t sure how he should feel when the boy talked so enthusiastically about the beloved position that used to be his. He just smiled politely, reminding himself that even he wanted to join the team, he wouldn’t be selected because he was the infamous Mud-blood Granger.

And what he was feeling right now was definitely not jealousy.

“Anyway, I think maybe it’s for the best that you don’t want to attend this year, you’ll need to grow another few inches to be a Beater.” 

“A Beater?”

“Yeah! Look how you beat that ball the other day! It was brilliant! It flew just right above the edge of the ring, and neither Abraxas nor Orion expected that you could do it. They didn’t even bother to turn in that direction. And you should have seen their faces when it passed right through. How did you even manage that? I mean, you weren’t even facing the ring, but you could aim that accurately…”

Something about Alphard reminded Harry of Ron. The casual and careless way he spoke, and the excessive enthusiasm when he talked about his favorite sport. What touched Harry more was, he completely ignored Malfoy and his little gang’s prohibition, talked and invited him to the grounds whenever he had a chance. Yet Malfoy hadn’t dared to do anything to him, because – Harry soon noticed – Alphard had his own advantage against Malfoy’s gang. 

He was, after all, the cousin of Orion Black. Although Orion liked to put on some elder-brother airs in front of his younger cousin, he never really gave him a hard time. While Malfoy tended to ignore Alphard when Orion was not paying him attention, and Crabbe and Goyle just wouldn’t take any actions except their bosses ordered them to. 

Another thing about Alphard was - he was too popular in his year. Harry noticed it immediately after the flying class. Once Alphard got off his broomstick, people soon came around, patting him on the shoulder and congratulating him passionately, as if he’d just won a Quidditch match. For Slytherins, it was not surprising that pure-bloods tended to keep on good terms with him because he was other heir of the ancient, noble Black family. But aside from his pure-blood friends, Alphard seemed to love the company of the half-bloods too. And it was not limited to Slytherins – Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, even some Gryffindors would greet him friendly when they encountered in the corridors – the boy just seemed to have friends _everywhere._

This genuine, easy-going personality of Alphard had sharply contrasted with his cousin’s, who was unapproachable and detached like the farthest planet of the solar system. Orion didn’t seem to pay much attention to things aside from his own homework. He was so hard-working that if it was not for his arrogance and apathy, he could be a male version of Hermione. He didn’t seem to have many friends either. Only Malfoy seemed to reach his standard and became his only and close friend as a result.

The Black cousins were truly like sun and moon, one energetic and bright, one callous and cold. Harry concluded so one day.

Alphard was thrilled to find someone who was of his own age and unexpectedly good at flying – even though Harry rejected his suggestion of signing up the Slytherin team, he still successfully talked Harry into helping him with the training for the upcoming trial (Harry had no idea how he did it). In the past two weeks, they had been on the grounds whenever they weren’t having classes. They couldn’t use the actual Snitch in case they lost it, but Harry imitated what Wood did in his first training – beat a golf ball as far as he could and Alphard flew to catch it on the broom. Then one thing led to another, the boy had finally persuaded Harry into coming to the trial with him, so Harry was now sitting alone under the morning sun, shivering in the chilly wind, hating himself for being too soft-hearted.

He used to love the Quidditch pitch. But recently, he wanted to avoid it more and more. In fact, he wanted to avoid anything that was related to the sky – flying, to be more specific. Harry had never expected he would avoid flying one day. It was his only inherited talent after all, the only thing he could do without being taught. Harry felt his heart clench - why did universe take the last joy away from him?

It was not like he didn’t like flying anymore. He desperately missed the sensation of wind rushing through his hair, the excitement and the freedom that he had been longing for. But then he would recall the horrible thing he experienced when he was flying last time.

What was that?

The whispers, the dark shadows, the swirling, blurred colors and shapes…

And most of all, the hatred, the vicious, vicious emotions that couldn’t possibly belong to him…

Harry couldn’t help a shiver in the stands. It had nothing to do with the weather – the sunshine was pleasant, the breeze was gentle. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The velvet blue contrasted sharply with shades of vivid green. Everything was so clear and crisp under the bright sun – nothing blurred or swirling or hidden, yet he just felt cold, so cold, deep down to his very core.

It was something he tried to forget – but the memory wouldn’t fade. On the contrary, it became fresher. The vicious emotions had almost felt like his own – he had to remind himself several times a day that it was just a vision.

He wanted to talk to someone about it – Dumbledore, or Tom – but how to describe it? How could he even start? The sensation was just so indescribable. And as time passed, he tended to believe it was just a hallucination that felt too real, or maybe a dream in his long, long sleep. He thought it was a memory in Diagon Alley only because he recognized the street – but how could he be so sure? The roof and street were, after all, all wrecked and in a blur. How could he even reckon that it was in Diagon Alley?

_It was just a dream. Just. A. Dream._

He forced his focus to be back on the trial. The trail for Seekers was arranged at last. Harry could see Alphard standing there, dressed in his best training robe – Harry had been helping him prepare for almost two weeks now, and Alphard himself must have been training for much longer. It was hard to tell the boy’s expression from a long distance. Was he excited? Was he nervous? 

Harry himself had never gone through a trial before – he entered Gryffindor team out of luck. And now he thought about it – it was indeed pure luck: if Neville had never brought his Rememball to the class…if Malfoy could be less of a jerk…if Professor McGonagall had never seen him flying – or worse, if it was _Snape_ who saw him…

Harry’s train of thought was dragged back by a whistle. It was Seeker’s turn now. There were five of them competing for the position – Alphard was the fourth in the line. He was the smallest, but that was exactly what a Seeker was asked for – light and speedy. Harry had seen how Alphard flew for almost two weeks now – quick and determined, the best second-year flier Harry had ever seen except for himself – yes…he could probably make it…

Harry knew he should feel happy for Alphard – he should be, Alphard was the only one who would keep him company under Malfoy’s coercion. It meant the world to him. He should be happy that someone like Alphard was so nice to him in this era.

Then why was this hollow loneliness still roaring in his chest?

It was because - Harry guessed - maybe it’s because he found it a little hard to connect with the boy. They had nothing in common except they were both good at flying. Harry didn’t know much about things going on in his year, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about Malfoy and Alphard’s cousin. Alphard would try to talk about flying or Quidditch with him, but they were both topics Harry tried to avoid: everything about flying reminded him of the horrible vision; he couldn’t talk about the Quidditch matches he attended and he knew too little about Quidditch teams in 1940s. None of their conversations would last long. Harry could see how frustrated Alphard was – he was actually good at starting a conversation – it was Harry who failed to take up the thread. Then Alphard would drop the topic and continue with his training nonetheless. Most of the time they spent together was Harry beating the ball and Alphard flew to fetch, both in an unspoken consensual silence.

Harry could sense Alphard trying, and he had been trying too. But sometimes things just wouldn’t work. Harry comforted himself that Alphard was at least good company whom it was safe to stay with – Malfoy and his gang would leave them alone when he was with Alphard – and he couldn’t afford to grow attached to anyone anyways.

But he did miss the warmth of human contact, miss the fun of an enjoyable conversation, miss the happiness when he was with an actual friend whom he felt comfortable with. 

Harry sighed, tried to recall the last time he had felt any of these feelings, then he thought of Tom. Tom and his gift – the Room of Requirement. That was probably one of the very limited moments when he did feel a swelling warmth and joy when the older boy showed him the room. But Tom had a life, had an occupied schedule, and had to stay in his own dormitory. So Harry was left alone there, alone in the empty space where everything was quiet and still. The only sound he could hear was the crack of the wood in the fireplace. There were no birds chirping in the morning, no owls hooting in the night, no sound of winds blowing the trees. Because the windows were fake - no sounds coming from there. All the room could do was copy what Gryffindor Tower would look like in day and night time. When he was in the room, he felt like he was trapped in an endless dream, with every second stretched infinitely long. He had to rely on the small clock on his nightstand, or he would lose track of time.

This must be what going crazy was like.

But it was also what he asked for – a world for him and him alone, a world of isolation.

_“ – there’s another thing I must ask you, is that you never, ever tell your secret to anyone. And if possible, I’d suggest you don’t grow too intimate to anyone.”_

Yes, Dumbledore said that. Dumbledore would probably encourage Harry to stay in the room. It was maybe what he should do – following the rules, facing the isolation all by himself, ensuring the future where he came from was undisturbed. But he was only twelve. He was just an ordinary human being with needs – needs of socialization, needs of human company, needs of being cared for and understood. He had been so good. But would the universe reward him someday, allowing him to go back to continue his life peacefully, while he was still sane enough to do so? 

This was his cursed fate – his secrets, his loneliness, his fear – intolerable, unspeakable. They clustered and tangled under the dark currents – they seemed to be calm, but Harry knew that someday they would – 

_Explode._

  
  


=======

  
  


“Harry! I did it! Did you see me fly? I caught that snitch under Flint’s nose! Merlin, he looked so angry… Anyway, I beat them all! I’m in! I’m now the Seeker of Slytherin! The youngest in decades!”

Oh, how Harry loved Alphard’s enthusiasm. The boy was back just in time to halt Harry’s train of thoughts sliding all the way into a pit of darkness. His face was shining with sweat and excitement. He was smiling broadly – at least he didn’t seem to notice Harry was a little distracted.

Harry suddenly felt guilty for zoning out in the middle – he was immersed in his own emotions too much and hadn’t paid attention to the trial at all. Alphard must have done great, but he couldn’t recall anything about the trial to comment on. 

“Congratulations, Alphard.” He finally managed, forced a smile, hoping at least it seemed to be sincere to the other boy. 

“Thank you! Harry! Let’s go to breakfast, shall we? I think my appetite is back!”

“Thanks, Alphard, but -”

“Oh, come on! Abraxas and my cousin won’t be there. They usually go to breakfast early. And who’s going to pick on you when you are with me? Just come with me, would you?”

“Yeah…well, I can’t be so sure. Look, I don’t want to drag you into trouble. I appreciate it, but -”

“Harry, do you want to know why I grouped with you back then, in the flying class?” Alphard suddenly interrupted. Harry gaped at him, bewildered. It took him by surprise. He had no idea why Alphard had suddenly mentioned it. 

The boy continued with a smile.

“I like what you did to Abraxas that night. Nobody dared to punch him in the face – he had probably never been so humiliated in his entire life. That punch was so good. Did you know he screamed for like half an hour?”

“Well - ”

“It’s not like I love to see him getting punched,” said Alphard, making a strange expression as if suppressing a laugh. His gaze fixed on something distant, “But I do think he sometimes needs a lesson. I don’t like his arrogance - always chin up and nose high in the air, like no one worth his attention. But everyone I know seems to like him – professors, our classmates, and oh, _my parents_ . They are like: ‘Look at Abraxas, that is what a decent boy should be like’. And Harry, I have to say - _I hate it so much_.” 

“The Black family and Malfoy family are very close. Abraxas, Orion and I grew up together, received our Hogwarts letters together. Well, at least Orion and Abraxas are close. I’m just this outsider of their small group. I can also tell that my parents like Orion better than me. They always said that Abraxas and Orion are the sons they’d rather have.”

“Things in big pure-blood families are like this, Harry. The adults socialize, talking about their money, their status, new influential people they met, half-bloods they despise, and oh, _their_ _kids_. We are like trophies, exhibited in the showcase, polished and decorated, always under the demand of keeping ourselves shiny when exhibited.”

“I used to be an embarrassment to my parents – I didn’t show any magical talent until I was nine. But Orion - Orion is a genius – he’s only a few months older than me and he could bounce back into his cradle if he fell at the age of two. He was everything my parents wanted – smart, powerful, and oh, all the stupid etiquettes he knew but I could never quite handle. Every day before I showed the first hint of my magical power, all I heard was ‘Orion blew up a house-elf today, what about you? When can you learn to be a proper son of Black?’. But how could I learn things like that? That’s accidental magic! And it’s not like I hadn’t tried – I did jump from the second floor once, to see whether I’d bounce like Orion did. All I managed was breaking my legs, and of course my father was furious – he broke his favorite stick on my arse that day.”

“And then when Orion and Abraxas became friends, things became worse. Orion and Abraxas, you know, sort of share the same vibe – I’d rather call it the same stink though. They first met each other in a stupid ball in Malfoy Manor, and stuck together ever since. Their parents were pretty happy about it – they thought the two boys had finally made some decent friends. And my parents, well, I just told you that they liked Abraxas and Orion a lot. They started to invite them to our Manor, hoping frequent interactions might nurture friendship. But the more I stayed with them, the more I could tell that it was not what friends should be like. We were too different. I never liked things they liked, never enjoyed entertainments they preferred. And it suffocated me. But my parents insisted we should spend more time together, so we could maintain this so-called friendship – this alliance – into the future. This is what noble people should do. But…urgh…why couldn’t I just be friends with people I like?”

“I remember the day when I showed the first hint of my magical power, my father was so thrilled that he opened a fifty-year Fire Whiskey and yelled, ‘Thank Merlin, my son is not a Squib!’. Yes, I was treated like a Squib all those years. It was also the year my youngest brother – Cygnus – was born. I know Cygnus was supposed to be my replacement. I had overheard it shortly before my mother was pregnant – that they had given up on me, that they needed a _real heir_. Because, you know, I only had one sister – Walburga and she will marry into another family someday – I was their only son before my youngest brother.”

“It turned out my youngest brother wasn’t a very healthy baby – it’s not like my mother was getting younger when she was pregnant. And since I had verified myself not a Squib, their attention was back on me again. But I’m sick of it, sick of them all. I hate all twisted dynamics in these pathetic pure-blood families. I want to be the one who is different. _I am_ the one who is different. Someday I will leave the family, leave them all behind. In fact, I’ve already tried a little - I begged the sorting hat, begged to be sorted into Gryffindor. I wanted to see their faces, Harry, that if I was sorted into the house of lions, what would they be like. Would they look scandalized? But, Harry, the hat refused. Apparently, I’m not courageous enough for the house.”

A long silence fell between them. Harry knew now, knew who was the unfortunate kid the Sorting Hat had mentioned - the kid who wanted to be in Gryffindor too but still sadly stuck in Slytherin – Alphard did have one more thing in common with him.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’ve been rambling. I shouldn’t be talking about the problems of my family in front of you too much. You have, after all, lost yours not too long ago.”

Harry shook his head in silence. He wanted to tell Alphard he knew how that felt – he knew how it felt being the least favorite one in the family. He understood it. While Dursleys were calling him freak, Alphard was called Squib by his own parents fifty years ago.

But all he could manage was patting the other boy on the shoulder, he suddenly hated himself, for he was too dumb to put those things into words.

“It’s fine, Alphard. Let’s go to the Great Hall. We should have a celebration. I’m sure this Seeker thing – it’s something to brag about, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it surely is! Ha, I finally talked you into going to the Great Hall!”

The other boy beamed, his arm on his shoulder. Harry missed the warmth – Ron used to put his arm on his shoulder too. 

  
  


=======

  
  


His boy had made a new friend…

How could anyone in Slytherin want to involve themselves with a Squib? He had expected hostility from the Slytherin house – no, from the whole school – against his boy when _he_ secretly spread the word that the boy had lost all his magic, so his boy would have no choice but to come to _him_ – the only person who was still gentle and patient when everyone else in the school bullied him and called him Squib. 

His plan had gone well in the beginning: the Malfoy heir had done what he had expected – openly picked a bone with him, mocked him, humiliated him – and his boy didn’t disappoint him either. The testy little devil. He dared to punch the Malfoy heir in the face, in the Slytherin common room, in front of an audience, making everyone in the house – including the son of one of the most influential pure-blood families - his enemies himself. No one would have the nerve to even come close to the boy, not even the Prince girl. He would be left alone, completely. 

And there was the little convenience he provided – the Room of Requirement – Tom had seen how well it worked, how grateful and touched his boy was - yes…his plan had almost succeeded, he just needed one push, one more…

But there was Dumbledore.

The old idiot exaggerated his little adventure in Diagon Alley, even came up with a stupid excuse that Harry was just temporarily banned to use magic due to his “injury”. The two little things combined had made Harry a tragic little hero – he couldn’t use magic only because he was injured by an accident that was caused by his foolish bravery – how disgusting. He was no longer the pathetic Squib anymore – the rest of the school were now talking about him with curiosity and respect, and that was _not what he wanted with his plan._ He needed people to despise him, to leave him alone, to drive him to _desperation_.

But if it was the only part that was ruined in his plan, Tom could still deal with it. The curiosity wouldn’t encourage people to actually associate with him – they usually stand away and observe, playing alone and safe. It didn’t matter as long as his boy was still isolated within the house.

But there was Alphard Black.

The Black heir. The wild card he couldn’t control. A potential threat.

He had planned to nurture the Malfoy heir to be the future leader of the junior students. He and his knights would graduate within three years. After graduation, he would need someone to be his puppet, someone that could spread his idealism amongst the potential audience – to influence the young minds – so he could still absorb new blood even when he would be somewhere far away from school, far away from the perfect breeding ground of his future followers. The Malfoy heir was perfect for the role – his cruelty, his wealthy, respectful family, his undisputable belief in pure-blood superiority, his alliance with the Black heir. Once Abraxas and Orion were mature enough, the combined influence of the two ancient pure-blood families would be incomparable.

But there was Alphard Black.

The boy was nothing like a decent heir of a noble family. Crude, ignorant, constantly associating with half-bloods. But the boy’s popularity was also undisputable – his easy-going personality had won him friendship from the majority of Slytherin despite his unpresentable behaviors. Especially now that he had become the Seeker of the Quidditch team. He could even see stupid junior students cheering and whistling to the boy when he passed by. 

With a little more ambition, Alphard Black could make an even better leader than the Malfoy heir, Tom thought groomily. But before Tom worried that someday Alphard Black would replace Abraxas, he had one more thing to worry about – was that this boy was now associating with his Harry. 

Unforgivable. Intolerable.

Tom knew the boy didn’t like him much, all because his sister Walburga – _oh, Walburga_ – had involved herself too much with him and his knights. How much could the boy know from his sister? Had he possibly known the true color underneath Tom’s perfect mask already? Did he know about the nasty things that they had done?

Things that were creepy enough to push his stupid, innocent boy far, far away. 

No, Tom couldn’t afford that. He would not allow the Black boy to be too close to his Harry. Alphard Black would ruin his plan – his plan of taking this new treasure and fascination for his own. He couldn’t let that happen – he needed to separate them, isolate his Harry from the Black boy. 

Thoroughly, entirely this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " - My Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold - he’s been wiped off here, too, that’s probably why - anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s for Sunday lunch, though.”
> 
> \- Chapter 6, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix  
> 


	13. What Your Heart Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many, many thanks to amazing [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid)  
> for a very detailed beta ❤️

A school barn owl landed gracefully onto his shoulder, stretching out one of its legs lazily – a tightly rolled-up parchment was tied to it. Harry unfastened the parchment with a strong curiosity, wondering who would write to him in this era.

Then he recognized the handwriting – neat and old-fashioned – the handwriting that appeared in the diary.

It was from Tom.

“Who sent you that?” asked Alphard.

“No one.” He hid the note immediately, even though he didn’t have a specific reason. The other boy only shrugged, lost his interest and dropped the issue.

“Let’s go for another round, shall we?”

“Umm…sorry, Alphard, I need to go to the library, right now.”

Alphard looked disappointed, “Harry, you promised. The days are getting shorter, if we don’t seize every minute, there’s not enough time before the Quidditch season starts, we have to –”

“Gotta go. See you, Alphard!”

Before Alphard could say another word, Harry already turned and ran, towards the castle where Tom was waiting for him. 

Harry had no idea where the eagerness came from.

  
  


=======

  
  


Tom had told the owl to deliver the note when the boy was alone. Apparently, the dumb bird didn’t listen.

He could see the two dark-haired boys clearly through the window on the second floor. With satisfaction, he witnessed Harry hide his note and ditch the Black boy, dashing towards the castle without hesitation. Once Harry disappeared from his view, he headed to the library too.

For several reasons, he didn’t want anyone else to notice that he was trying to connect with the boy. Though Harry might have the same noble ancestor as his, he was still a menial Mud-blood to the rest of the Slytherins. Consorting with him would raise unwanted questions. He was the leader and advocate of blood-superiority; he was supposed to oppose everything about the twelve-year-old Muggle-born boy to "keep the house clean". He still couldn’t show his obsession openly. His hard-won leadership in Slytherin could be easily shaken. His attention towards the boy would certainly attract interest from others - what if they tried to steal him away? He could not afford another Alphard Black there to distract Harry.

No, it was not the time yet. This was his treasure - _his alone_ \- and only those who stayed low-key and quiet could make a fortune eventually.

He soon arrived at the seat which the boy usually took in the library – a perfect corner. To avoid unwanted intrusion, he needed to set up a repelling charm to drive away those who were irrelevant. It was quite a handy invention of his own – he only did an adjustment to the Muggle-Repelling charm, expanded the range of the charm so only those who had his permission could enter. He had used it frequently in the dungeons for his knight meetings. Now it had a better use.

What he needed to do next was simple – distracting Harry from the rest of the world again. Intensify the connection, occupy his time, consume his life and energy, until there was nothing else he could think about but Tom, Tom, and _Tom_. Such manipulation needed appropriate pace and balance. It was skillful work, but Tom had tried it on several people and succeeded – these people were still following him whole-heartedly even though he had ditched them with no regrets.

He planned to let Harry take a part in his endless search for his ancestry on his mother’s side. He cursed Alphard Black for forcing him to take this step. The task was highly private. If he could, he did not want anyone to join, even Harry. A part of him knew that he couldn’t afford the disappointment if he found nothing – and if so, he certainly didn’t want anyone else in the school to know he was nothing but a mere Mud-blood. But he knew this was the only way he could attract the boy’s attention. Only this – involving him in the family search, striking the orphan chord in him – would work best on his Harry. This was the tactic that had proved to be effective when they met in the library on the first day.

Oh, he could certainly give up a little privacy and convenience for his boy, for the biggest treasure he had ever seen. It was just a small sacrifice compared with the potential return. He could deal with it.

And he knew Harry wouldn't say no. With a little manipulation with words, a simple reminder to the boy of what he had promised in the hospital wing, the twelve-year-old would jump into the pit willingly.

They would have so much fun together.

  
  


=======

  
  


Harry tried to calm his breath in the last few steps. He could already see Tom sitting in his old corner – just as the note indicated. Tom was gazing out of the window, with his face propped on one hand. The setting sun shone through the threads of his dark hair, glided the perfect curve of his tall nose and cheekbones. He looked like an ancient Greek marble statue – sacred, untouchable. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from him.

Then the older boy noticed him.

“Hi, Harry.”

“H - hi, Tom,” he greeted awkwardly, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I just got your note – ”

The older boy only flashed him a smile.

“It’s fine, Harry. I just arrived myself. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“You said you needed me for something…what is it? What can I do for you?”

"Ah, Harry. I do need your help with something. And it may take you some time. Would you please sit down and let me explain?”

“Umm…What is it? I mean, if it’s homework I certainly can’t…I mean, I can’t…you know…also, I agreed Alphard I’d help him with Quidditch training until his first match, so –”

Tom chuckled. 

“I see you boys out there these days. It’s very kind of you to help him. But Harry, don’t you think it’s better for Black to train with the Slytherin team, instead of an unqualified, twelve-year-old coach? Captain Crockett is very experienced and responsible, I believe he will lead us to victory this year.”

“But - ”

“Alphard Black is a good boy, Harry. Kind, warm-hearted. I think his favorite thing is to help lost first-years to find their classrooms, that’s why he’s always late for class. He loves to help the weak – the great Black, comes to the rescue – I believe your current state made him feel all compassionate and…tended to look after you out of… _sympathy_.”

Harry didn’t argue. He had thought about it before – before their small talk after the Quidditch trial, back then when they were having all those awkward trainings. Even now they were still having moments where silence stretched awkwardly between them. They had too little to talk about – Harry bet he could have a better conversation even with Neville. It didn’t escape his mind that maybe Alphard was just trying to be nice to the pathetic Muggle-born boy. It was not like he liked him as a friend. What was between them was nothing but a pity friendship.

“Sit, Harry. Black can wait. I’m the one who really needs you here.”

So he did, obediently this time. 

  
  


=======

  
  


“Harry, have you tried to look for someone, in the sea of information you can reach, with no other clue but _a name_?”

Harry thought of Nicolas Flamel immediately.

“This is what I’m doing,” Tom continued, “I’m trying to find a name – my middle name – it is said to be the name of my grandfather’s. The name ‘Marvolo’, is the only clue I have.”

Harry registered immediately – Tom was looking for his family.

He should have thought of it – Tom mentioned it before, mentioned that he was orphaned, that his mother died after he was born and he had no idea where his father was. 

If Tom was trying to find his family –

“I started a few months ago – just before the summer break started – and during the summer break I did everything I could to gather more information about my mother. But nothing – My mother left nothing before she died; people in the orphanage provided me with nothing useful. I could only rely on what I could find in Hogwarts. But I am not progressing, Harry. There are too many things I need to check. I am only one person and I have too few clues for that. I might never be able to find him – not within the limited time while I’m still in Hogwarts.”

The older boy’s fist clenched, there was a regretful expression on his face.

“What is worse is, Harry, this is my O.W.Ls year. With homework burdening me, I can’t spend much time on this. I desperately need help, Harry. If I could just use some from someone who understands me, someone who knows how it feels –”

Tom turned to him, he looked genuine, and desperate too –

“Life is not easy for you either. I know your current situation, know how terrified you are. I used to be the same, a nameless orphan – they used to pour ink on my notebook, shred my sheet and ruin my shirts. I was no better than you, so I want you to know that you are not alone right now. I feel you; you feel me. We are quite alike, after all.”

“Harry, I know it’s a lot to ask. It’s not just simple scanning and browsing. We will have a lot to cover – old student name lists, newspapers, journals. I totally understand if you don’t want to; I don’t want to burden you either, but – ”

Tom took a deep breath, as if he needed some determination. 

“– You are the only one I know who would understand this, the only one whom I want to share my secrets with. Would you please help me to find my family, Harry?”

Harry didn’t need to hear more. He nodded, firmly and eagerly this time.

If Tom was trying to find his family, _how could he not help him with that?_

  
  


=======

  
  


This was easy. He could persuade the boy without breaking a sweat, he had known it.

The loneliness and the eagerness to prove himself useful were the greatest weaknesses of the boy. He saw how the boy’s expression softened like ice melting under warm sunshine and how his green eyes started to become watery during his talk. _How adorable_. It had worked on so many people, of course it would work on his innocent, naïve boy too.

“I mean, I can probably be counted as experienced,” said the boy, rolling up his sleeves, “we have managed this impossible task before, we had ‘nothing-but-a-name’ too, back then.”

“Whom did you look for?”

“Nicolas Flamel.”

“Ah, the great alchemist, the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone. It is not common knowledge anymore. I wonder how you’d even heard of him in the first place… So how did you find him?”

“Oh, we did search for a long time; we found his name on a chocolate-frog card eventually.”

“On a what?”

“A chocolate-frog…oh, sorry, I forgot. You probably haven’t got chocolate-frog cards yet.”

_Yet?_

“Well, I don’t think that would happen again. We will have a long list to go, Harry. I think it’s best to run through Hogwarts’ alumni name list first. Almost every wizard in Great Britain has studied in Hogwarts.”

He smiled as the boy eagerly obeyed and opened the giant, heavy book with his small hands, browsing the pages with a serious look in his face, apparently eager to show how “experienced” he was.

Oh, they would certainly have so much fun together.

  
  


=======

  
  


Surprisingly, Harry found himself feeling energetic and fueled this time. 

It had been mostly curiosity, and a sense of responsibility driving him when he dug out every book in the library searching for Nicolas Flamel. But when their fruitless search met a dead-end, it frustrated him, damped down his passion with suffocating disappointment. But right now, he was feeling a swelling joy that he could help Tom this way, and an indescribable little secret happiness that Tom trusted him with a task so important and intimate.

Tom was right - they were quite alike. Helping him was helping himself. They were both abandoned boys, they needed to find homes on their own.

And not to mention this was _Tom,_ the nice, wonderful _Tom_. This was just a very simple little thing he could do to repay the life debt he owed him in Diagon Alley, as well as many, many other nice things Tom had done for him.

“Not that, Harry, I don’t think he was born before 1850.”

“I can’t be so sure, Tom. Wizards can live really long, you know. How old do you think Professor Dippet is?”

“A little between three hundred and five and three hundred and six, I think. But that’s not the point, I just don’t think they are fertile at an age of…well, fifty, wizards or not.”

“Or maybe your mother wasn’t that young when she had you…Oh, Tom, are you worrying maybe he might have passed away? Because, you know, he’d be over ninety if he was born before 1850.”

"Not exactly, Harry, like what you said, wizards can live really, really long…"

“Then I don’t see why you don’t want me to check the alumni name list of the 1860-1861 school year.”

Tom didn't stop the boy reaching the heavy yearbook – if the boy decided to do a thorough and detailed job, why would he even try to stop him? Except that he knew it was just a waste of time, the boy’s search would be all in vain, because – 

Because he had checked all the name lists starting from the school year of 1800, and he was pretty sure that there was no Marvolo in them.

This was his bottom line – he would allow the boy to join but never gave him anything important – he would allocate him something easy but trivial, something he could control. In this way he could monitor everything the boy was doing, everything the boy might find – _it must be under his supervision_.

“You know, Tom. People could change their names. What if your grandfather had changed it? It could be Marshall or Marvin before. He changed it to Marvolo to make himself sound cooler – or he thinks he does…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. But…well…”

Tom fell into thought: he had never considered that before. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. If Marvolo had really changed his name, he would have so much more work to do – would there be records in the Ministry if wizards changed their names? Was it possible to get the records with the resources he currently had?

“You might have a point, but if so, we might need to –”, Tom muttered out loud, but Harry interrupted him.

"You know the best thing about Hogwarts' alumni name list? Photos! They have photos attached to every student since the school year of 1840, although some of them are a little worn...But we can still see the features! Maybe we should look for someone who resembles you, someone with dark-hair, high cheekbones –”

The boy stopped rambling, his eyes widened, fixed on the yearbook he was browsing.

“What? What is it, Harry? What did you find?”

“Oh, my god. OH, MY GOD!” the boy exclaimed. “I can’t believe I haven’t thought about it before! But it will work, it definitely will! I saw them in it! And you will see them too! If we know what your grandfather looks like –”

The boy turned to Tom, his face shining with excitement.

“Tom, have you heard of the Mirror of Erised?”

  
  


=======

  
  


The boy insisted that they waited in the Room of Requirement (which was now Harry’s private dormitory) until it was late in the night. Apparently, the Mirror of Erised could only be found at midnight.

"No, it's not like that… it's just…I just happen to find it when it was really late. Besides, I don't want people to run into us and ask questions."

Tom agreed with that. He didn’t want people to see him hanging around with the Muggle-born boy either. But he still frowned at the boy’s statement – the little rule-breaker, he must have wandered in the castle late in the night again.

“‘ _When it was really late’_?” Tom echoed, “When did that happen? You might not be living in the dormitory now, but I have to warn you as the prefect of Slytherin –”

“Oh, come on Tom, you are the fun prefect. Don’t be like Percy.”

“And who’s Percy –”

“Shh, I think it’s about time, let’s go.”

“OK, but before we go –” The Slytherin prefect pulled out his wand, tapped the boy on the top of his head and whispered an incantation.

Harry immediately felt a curious sensation as if someone had just broken an egg on his head. There were cold trickles running down his body; he couldn’t help looking down and surprised to see his body take on the exact color and texture of the room, as if he was a human chameleon. 

“Wow, Tom!” he yelled in awe.

“The Disillusionment Charm," Tom explained. 

"I knew you'd be the cool prefect!" there was clear excitement in the boy's tone, "but why didn't you use this back in Diagon Alley?"

"I thought this charm was unnecessary to learn before the incident, and apparently I was wrong," Tom replied briefly, casting the spell on himself. They were both Disillusioned now. 

“This saves me from invisibility cloak – not as good but should be enough when it’s dark.”

“You have an invisibility cloak?”

“ _Had_ an invisibility cloak, a family heritage. I don’t have it now.” Harry tried to distinguish Tom’s from the surrounding; it was much harder to locate Tom’s position now, “Can you hold my hand? I can’t see you clearly now. What if we got lost in the dark?”

A nearly invisible, warm hand found his, and squeezed for agreement. Harry suddenly felt more settled. It was like the floating, lonely boat in his heart had finally found its shore, a place where it was safe and secure.

“Let’s go gentle then,” he smiled, even though he knew the other boy couldn’t see, “into this good night.”

  
  


=======

  
  


The breeze was chilling but pleasant. A warmth was radiating from the hand he was holding but an agitation was urging him forwards. He held the hand tighter, dragging the older boy through the moonlit corridor. They trotted quietly; Harry was not surprised to find Tom was equally good at night tours as himself.

He scanned the empty corridor eagerly, trying to recall whether this was the one where he had found the abandoned classroom. They took one turn, then another. Harry was certain that they were on the right floor; the classroom should be somewhere nearby. That was where he found the mirror, before Dumbledore moved it to – 

– What if they had moved it in the past fifty years? What if the mirror wasn’t in Hogwarts fifty years ago? 

A dreadful thought suddenly clenched his heart. He had never thought about it before; he had just assumed the mirror would still be there. He had forgotten fifty years had passed.

The excitement at the beginning of the adventure died. What if he couldn’t find the mirror? Harry couldn’t afford to think about it any further. The mirror existed – fifty years in the future – and it should have certainly existed fifty years ago. He couldn’t let Tom down; he wanted Tom to see his family. He had to find it.

_He must find the mirror for Tom._

“Harry, when was the last time you saw it?”

“Last week.” Harry lied, firmly.

“You saw your parents in it.”

“Yes.”

“And you are sure I’m going to see my grandfather in it too.”

“It shows the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts, Tom. If you truly want to see him, then yes. In fact, I think you’d probably see your whole family.”

“Listen, Harry - ”

“Shh, Tom, I think this is it.”

They were now standing outside of a classroom. Tom recognized it as the classroom that had been disused for years. The door squeaked as Harry eagerly pushed it open. 

Then a soft grasp came out of the boy.

“…It’s here! I knew it, it hasn’t been moved, it’s still here!”

Rushing footsteps – the boy hastily broke free from his hold and ran into the abandoned classroom. The sound echoed in the space.

Tom followed him. The classroom was mostly empty, with desks and chairs piling against the wall. There was something giant - almost as tall as the classroom itself – propped against the wall. It was draped in crimson velvet.

Then the cover fell – the boy pulled it off eagerly – and a splendid, ancient-looking mirror was revealed in front of them. Ornate gold-framed, supported by two clawed feet – the mirror was magnificent, something historical, something esoteric.

_“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi…”_

Tom whispered the writing engraved on the frame – it was likely a dead language, gone with the ancient mysteries, buried in silence and oblivion.

_It was fascinating._

“Lift the charm, Tom! How can we look into the mirror if we are Disillusioned?”

A fond smile crept onto his face – the boy’s eagerness was almost amusing. He closed the door, approached the boy, one hand stretching out, reaching to the twelve-year-old. 

“Don’t move.”

The boy obeyed. Tom grabbed him, and tapped his wand on his head – or where was supposed to be his head – the boy soon re-appeared; an expression of shining happiness and excitement on his face.

Before he lifted his own charm, he didn’t forget to cast another repelling charm on the classroom.

“Now what?”

“Now we look into the mirror.”

  
  


=======

  
  


Tom looked calm.

Tom looked _too calm_.

How could he be so calm?

It was such a brilliant idea! Why wasn’t he excited? As long as he knew what his grandfather looked like, he could recognize him from the countless photos in the name lists. It was a priceless clue! It would be so much better than searching randomly with “nothing-but-a-name”.

And that was only a bonus. The mirror could show Tom his family! He was going to see his family! Why wasn’t he excited?

Harry was annoyed by the bored look on Tom’s face; he looked as if he was babysitting him unwillingly – accompanying him for his little adventure in the castle so he could get rid of twelve-year-old’s rambling. A little irritated, he dragged Tom to the mirror, made him stand in front of it, then stepped back –

–he would know, he would know how good this was –

“Remember, Tom, what you see is only an illusion in the mirror, we need to memorize what your grandfather looks like and –”

He stopped, because the look on Tom’s face had changed dramatically.

Harry remembered how Ron looked – Ron couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror – fascination, obsession, excitement. But Tom was nothing like that – his eyes widened; an expression mixed with shock and disbelief appeared on his face. Then – confusion and bewilderment, as if the mirror just put the most difficult puzzle in front of him, instead of the wildest dream of his life.

_What did he see?_

Tom turned to Harry, as if seeking confirmation, then turned to the mirror, then Harry again.

“W–what do you see, Tom?” Harry couldn’t help asking. He had never seen people react like that in front of the Mirror of Erised.

Tom didn’t answer. He stayed like that for a while, gazing into the mirror thoughtfully. Harry looked at him with concern.

“I see myself, Harry, as the Minister of Magic. People are applauding for me. I just got elected,” Tom whispered. It was barely audible. But soon enough, the confused expression was replaced by comprehension. A wild rapture spread across his face.

Harry wondered whether it was because of the light, but the wild joy didn’t make the older boy’s feature more handsome, rather creepy instead. But Harry didn’t mind; in fact, he was relieved – at least Tom looked happy now.

“T–that is impressive. But your family - ”

“No, I didn’t see them. Well, maybe this is what I truly want then. Achievements,” whispered Tom, his attention was still fixed on the mirror. 

"A Slytherin through and through, aren't you?" Harry turned to the mirror too. "That's quite ambitious. For my friend, it was Head Boy at most…But you know what? You'll be the first Slytherin Minister I'll ever vote for," he ended enthusiastically.

“Thank you, Harry.” The Slytherin prefect turned to him and ruffled his hair fondly. “The mirror is fascinating. Thank you for showing me this. Aren’t you going to look? You’ve been looking for it for the whole night.”

“Nah…I’ve looked many times. I know exactly what I’m going to see.”

The additional dose of homesickness was unnecessary, Harry thought. But Tom didn’t listen. He only smiled broadly and grabbed his shoulder, pushing him towards the mirror.

“Come on, Harry, you should. Look at your dream again, find some ambition, fight for it!”

“No, not really…Hey! Don’t push me, I can move on my own.”

Tom laughed and stepped back. Harry stepped to Tom's former position – the same spot where he had spent night after night in that Christmas holiday. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, prepared to see his parents once again, then he opened them –

It was not his parents he saw.

To be more specific, it was not _only_ his parents he saw – Lily and James were still there, but they were standing behind, amongst a large crowd of people he hadn’t expected to see.

He recognized Ron and Hermione immediately, who was standing at the front. The red-haired boy and the bushy-haired girl smiled – exactly like how Harry remembered. The girl’s smile looked blameful – was she blaming him for leaving or for taking her last name arbitrarily? Ron, on the other hand, smiled shyly, like the day he took him to the Burrow and introduced his family. The other Weasleys were there too – Fred, George, Percy, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley – they were all waving to him. His other classmates – Neville, Dean, Seamus – crowded together, tiptoeing to see him better; Neville nearly stumbled. He saw Lavender and Parvati peeping through Hermione’s bushy hair. And his teachers: Professor Dumbledore – the silver-beard Dumbledore was nodding and gazing down at him through his half-moon spectacles. Professor McGonagall was also smiling, with a mother-like gentleness he had never seen before. He almost missed the sight of Professor Flitwick, who was so short that he had to stand on piled books. And there was Hagrid, too, who occupied most of the space in the mirror like a small mountain. On Hagrid’s shoulder rested Hedwig. Her amber eyes fixed on him blamefully. He was not surprised that none of the Slytherins appeared in the mirror – Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, or Snape – it was just the ones whom he loved he saw.

The Mirror of Erised. The miraculous mirror that showed the deepest, most desperate desire of his heart.

Until that day, he had never known that he had missed them so much, longed for them so much.

He had never known he had been so lonely.

There were tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked and looked. He could never get enough of them – the blessed sight of his friends, his classmates, his teachers, _his true family_.

It was what his heart truly desired.

  
  


=======

  
  


Tom didn’t say anything.

He didn’t urge him, didn’t remind him that they were actually in a disused classroom, at the dead of night after curfew.

They just stood there, silently. Harry allowed his tears to fall, trying to suppress the sniffing sound he was making. He almost wished Tom wasn’t there. How could he face him after this?

Then a warm, large hand squeezed his shoulder, tugging him closer, turning him around forcefully. The next thing he knew was the feeling of a firm chest and soft wool pressed on his face. His face was buried in Tom's sweater, which absorbed all the tears that were running down his face.

Knowing the soft texture would muffle his sound, Harry couldn’t hold back anymore. He let himself out, cried into the warmth that was wrapping him up tightly.

_He had never known he had been so lonely._

  
  


=======

  
  


He should have never looked in the mirror.

Knowing what his heart desired. Knowing it was something once so close yet so far away. Knowing that what used to be taken for granted happened to be the most precious.

If he had known, he would have cherished it like the purest diamond in the world.

What should he do with his life now?

Lost his magic, lost all his friends, trapped in a cursed era. No one understood him, no one could help him –

“You know you can always _trust me_ , Harry," Tom whispered into his ears.

Harry tilted his head to meet the older boy in the eyes. His glasses became cloudy because of the tears; he couldn’t see Tom clearly.

But, _yes_ , he needed someone whom he could _trust._

The loneliness, the desperation, clenched his heart, tortured him, tore him. His secrets, his fear – intolerable, unspeakable. They clustered and tangled under the dark currents – they seemed to be calm, but Harry knew that someday they would – 

_Explode._

_He could not let that happen._

He needed an exit from this labyrinth, needed someone to share the burden, needed someone whom he could talk to, even if they might not believe him and –

Even if it was against the rules of Time.

The rules that _a small breach in the law could result in catastrophic events_.

_But why did he even care?_

He was only twelve. He was just an ordinary boy – “ _just Harry_ ” – he needed to be cared for and understood. He had been following the stupid rules, but would the universe reward him eventually? What's the meaning of the future if he couldn't go back at all?

Screw it. Screw the rules. Screw them all.

Determined, Harry wiped his tears with sleeve, prayed his little self-indulgence would be forgiven someday. He raised his head to face Tom, who was still holding him tightly – 

“Tom, I have a confession to make – ”

He took a deep breath, before he could talk himself out of it.

Before it reached to the point that could never turn back – 

“ – My home is not in London, and my real name is not Granger. I am not from anywhere in this era – I’m from the future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suddenly realized an old art of mine fits the scene really well so I decided to shamelessly link it here (actually I should modify it a little but NOPE I'm lazy
> 
> [You know you can always trust me, Harry.](https://aquamarine-w.tumblr.com/post/190344987344/something-simple-and-quick)  
> 


	14. What Your Heart (Truly) Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid) so many thanks.  
> And love.

“ – My home is not in London, and my real name is not Granger. I am not from anywhere in this era – I’m from the future.”

Tom thought he must have misheard something.

What was that?

Why did Harry say that? What did that mean? Was he – 

Was he crazy?

There should be a feeling of triumph as the boy’s defense had finally lowered. His plan had worked better than he thought. Even though the twelve-year-old was tough for his age, he was just a kid after all – his tolerance for isolation and desperation had met the upper limit. The sweet trap Tom prepared for him had eventually closed, and never again would Tom allow him to escape.

But _ that was a crazy confession _ that Tom had never expected.

Was it maybe a joke? A lame joke to confound him? But no – there was no way  _ this _ devastated little boy could still joke – those tears were true, the desperation was real. This should be his most vulnerable moment, the moment for Tom to open his heart, trick out his secrets, dig into his soul.

_ “ – I’m from the future.”  _

This was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, how was that even possible? 

Time-traveling back hours was, yes, possible. There were time-turners for lazy students to regain their lost time and catch up with their homework, but none of those could allow people to travel back more than five hours. 

But Harry was apparently talking about traveling back  _ years _ .

It was not unheard of. But those stories were also more of myths rather than truth. They lacked the actual evidence and details – how had it happened? Had those time-travelers changed the timeline? If they had, who could be there to witness the impact on history? 

Those were just stories told by time-travelers themselves. Without proof, they might be nothing but attention-seeking stunts.

But there was one said time-traveler right here – curling up in the chair in the horrifyingly-decorated crimson dormitory and hiding his face between his knees. The boy was still occasionally sniffing and apparently too embarrassed to look up.

_ “ - I am not from anywhere in this era.” _

"Era". It was as if Harry had traveled for decades, or longer – centuries. When could he possibly be from? His habits and the language he spoke seemed not so different from Tom’s, but it was also hard to know how much lives and customs would have changed in the future. 

Too much unknown about Harry. This boy was the most confusing thing that had ever happened to him.

But now he thought about it, he did notice things. There were details – clues that Harry wasn’t just a muggle-born boy, like how Harry adapted to the new environment way sooner than an ordinary twelve-year-old kid should have, how he talked about sweets and things they didn’t have “ _ yet _ ”, how he commented about the ongoing war, about Grindelwald...

_ “Dumbledore will defeat him in a few years.” _

Harry told his snake so that day in the library. He mentioned that old fool in such an annoyingly confident tone; he didn’t seem to be predicting things. It sounded like a well-known knowledge to him in the future.

Tom still couldn’t shake off his suspicion, yet he did start to think about the possibility of impossible – there was no other reasonable explanation indeed. And who was he to assert the impossibility of time-travel? He had been exploring things that were way more obscure and dangerous after all…

Tom gently laid his hands on Harry’s shoulder. He managed to uncurl the twelve-year-old – Harry leaned absentmindedly on the back of the chair, not paying attention to whatever Tom was doing. The older boy lifted Harry’s chin, his other hand grabbed a hot towel he prepared and started to wipe the boy’s face. Harry didn’t say a word, just allowed the older boy to clean up his tear stains quietly.

Harry had been in this state for a while. No matter what Tom asked in the classroom, the boy refused to answer. That was why he took Harry back, in the hope that a private, familiar environment might make the boy feel better. 

He lowered the towel, and once again he looked into those watery green eyes, trying to penetrate his Occumulency barrier. _ Nothing.  _ Even at the edge of mental breakdown, it remained seamless. Those eyes reflected the dim light in the room, gleaming silently and emotionlessly through the glasses.

But even though reading the boy’s mind remained impossible, he knew that Harry was not lying this time. He knew the signs when Harry lied but the boy was not showing any – no avoidance from his gaze, no awkward expressions he would try to hide. 

_ Harry was from the future. His boy was from the future. _

A shiver of excitement ran through his whole body – where did Harry come from? How? Why? 

And who exactly was he?

Tom put the towel away; Harry looked down immediately as Tom released his chin. The embarrassment of the boy was almost adorable.

“Look at you, cried like a messy kitten.” Tom teased.

Even in the dim light, he could still see a shade of red quickly climbing up the boy’s neck and cheeks – the wild kitten was ashamed of its surrender for a shelter. Harry’s meaningless self-esteem was indeed amusing –  _ how could the twelve-year-old think he could handle everything alone? _

Tom kneeled in front of Harry, so that his eyes were level with his. He still needed one more push – there was so much he didn’t known, so many questions remained unanswered.

“Harry, I asked this back in the classroom, I have to ask again, where – well,  _ when _ did you come from?”

“I can’t tell you that, Tom.” 

Harry answered this time, his voice was no more than a whisper.

“What is your real name?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“Is there anyone you recognize in this era?”

The boy shook his head firmly. Tom sighed.

Maybe he shouldn’t be optimistic. He thought Harry just needed time to calm down. But it seemed it was not the case – the boy’s tone was calm and emotionless. Harry refused to tell him anything was because  _ he hadn’t trusted him enough _ . 

Or was it possible that there might be other unknown rules restricting Harry?

Tom couldn’t help guessing. He hesitated whether he should keep asking – he felt he was both so close yet so far-away from the truth. But before he had decided, Harry suddenly raised his head.

“Do you believe me, Tom?”

The boy’s green eyes met his. It was just a plain, simple question. But the expectation on his face was almost substantial.

And what other answer could there be?

“I believe you, Harry. I really do.”

“Thank you, Tom. That’s enough for me.”

The boy’s head lowered again. That was unmistakably a dismissal – it was time for him to leave Harry alone. Harry needed some time for himself. So did Tom – he needed to organize the overwhelming information, to think about what his next step should be – 

“Tom, could you please stay? Don’t leave me alone.”

Harry suddenly called out in a slightly trembling voice which was entirely different from before. Tom froze. And the boy seemed to be startled by his bold request too – he lowered his head even deeper, his whole body shrunk into a tighter ball. 

That was when Tom realized the emotionless calmness was just a mask the boy wore. Under the disguise, there was a desperate need to be understood, to be taken care of, to be accompanied.

It was what Harry’s heart truly desired.

And how could he say no to his dear boy?

“I’d love to, Harry. You won’t be alone.”

=======

Tom remembered the days when he had to help the matrons to do the chores. The orphanage was always understaffed, so the older kids had to bear the duty of taking care of the younger ones. And changing for them happened to be most unpleasant for Tom. He wondered why he offered to help Harry change, especially when the boy protested intensively.

“ – you really don’t have to. I’m twelve, I can change by myself.” Harry shifted awkwardly as Tom’s insisting hands started to loosen his tie.

“Stop moving and be a good twelve-year-old you are.” 

Harry’s hands were grabbing his wrists but lacked the actual strength to prevent him, neither did he push him away – so Tom took it as a yes. But he could feel that Harry tended to shy away from his touch. The twelve-year-old avoided his gaze in the whole process; Tom could practically feel the heat radiating from the boy’s blushing face.

“What are you shy about, Harry? You are not a girl.”

Harry didn’t answer, but his feet shuffled back and forth on the floor.

Tom continued. Every inch of the boy was fascinating. He wanted to know more – every detail. Was there an answer to this puzzle in front of him? Was it hidden in the leaping heart under the visible rib cage? Could he tear it open and find the key to the boy’s secrets in the shattered organs and blood? 

“You never had anyone changed you?”

“Not that I remember, no.”

“Not even your relatives?”

Harry almost snorted.

“OK, no then. I have done this plenty of times in the orphanage. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

That didn’t seem to be convincing for Harry. The boy stood awkwardly when Tom changed into the pajamas the room provided – it appeared from nowhere on the bed next to Harry’s. The size fitted him well; the room had known what Harry’s heart desired too.

“T-thank you for staying, Tom…It’s really comforting, I – I mean, and we have plenty of beds here anyway, so…”

“Get into your bed, Harry. It's late. We are lucky tomorrow is Saturday, you don't want to go to morning classes after staying up for almost the whole night.”

The twelve-year-old stopped his stuttered ramble, walked awkwardly to his bed, timidly lifted his quilt and slipped in, as if _ he _ was new to this dormitory while Tom had been living here and offered him a sleepover. 

“You know, this dormitory is exactly the same as my dormitory back home.” The boy’s sleepy, muffled voice came out from his quilt, “this bed on the left belongs to Ro – my best friend, maybe you can sleep in this one.”

Tom didn’t answer. Instead he busied himself with folding their uniforms and organizing their stuff. When he finished his washup, he approached Harry's bed and frowned at the narrow space.

He dragged out his wand, tapped at the bed, wondering whether it would work – it was the first time he’d tried this charm – there was a ripple of air, then the bed somehow appeared to be different.

Harry was apparently startled. He sat up, stared at Tom nervously.

“What did you do, Tom?”

“Extension Charm. Now lie back – oh wait, give me your pillow.”

The boy handed him his pillow hesitantly, still staring at him with suspicion. 

“ _ Geminio _ .”

Another pillow appeared in the older boy’s hand; Harry seemed to be even more confused. Tom threw the pillow back to him, lifted the quilt of Harry’s bed and slipped in.

Harry’s eyes widened with a visible speed, he hastily shifted away to leave him more space to lie down, then it came to him – 

“Oh! I’ve seen this spell before!” The boy exclaimed, “Mr. Wea – my friend’s father used it on his car! It can extend the space, right? This is brilliant!”

Harry turned to feel the enlarged dimension of the bed. Tom smiled at the boy’s surprised reaction, plumped his pillow and lied down.

“Sleep, Harry. You have work to do tomorrow – we still have over a decade of yearbooks to check.”

Harry lay back obediently. He seemed to be nervous – apparently not used to sharing the same bed with another person. It was amusing. Unlike Tom, who grew up in a crowded place where he lacked personal space and privacy, Harry was probably isolated and left alone for most of his childhood.

“Harry, you know, in my orphanage, all of us shared beds when we were little, like the matrons said: ‘like what families would do’. I got my own room after I turned nine though.”

“Really? Well…I’d rather die than sleeping with Du – my cousin.” Harry yawned, “What was it like in the orphanage ?”

“A horrible place, I think I’ve told you this before – never enough food and space. There wasn’t enough money for that many children, but they tended to cover the fact. We were forced to put on our best clothes when there were visitors, you know, to show the best of us.”

“But – I’ve always wondered whether I’d have been better off if I were in an orphanage…at least I could have made friends with the other orphans, maybe? I don’t know…”

"I'd suggest you stay away from other orphans then, Harry. They are not trustworthy. Cruelty is human nature."

“…You are talking about it like you know them so well, but I think most people are good…it’s just a few…”

“Do you want to know what happened to me back then? A few years before I received my school letter.”

“…Yeah?”

“Back then they thought I was crazy. They found a doctor - a therapist - to treat me, then the therapist - Dr. Lewis, I still remember his name, Harry.”

“…Uh-huh…”

“The therapy they used on me was called electroshock therapy. I didn’t know what it was called back then, but I accidentally read about it during a summer break in the London library years later - apparently, that evil treatment is still going on in America.”

“…that name alone sounds…horrible...”

“The therapist attached electrodes on my forehead, said the current would ‘fix everything and shock the craziness out of me’. They told me it’s just a little pain. But it’s not, Harry…It’s not…”

Harry didn’t respond.

The boy’s breath had become even. Exhausted from the earlier drama, the dark-haired kitten had already fallen asleep. Facing Tom, it curled on its side, practically purring contently in its peaceful sleep. It hadn’t even taken off its glasses – the pair of dorky round things that hung loosely on its nose. 

The little bastard.

Tom sighed, plucked off the glasses and put it on the nightstand. He dragged the quilt up to cover his shoulder. It was almost the middle of October, the air outside was getting chill, he didn’t want Harry  to catch a cold .

Let the kitten dream. Tom thought peacefully.

=======

“Come along, Dr. Lewis is waiting.”

“No! I’m not going!”

“Don’t test my patience, Tom. Mrs. Wools has been very generous to you, the orphanage has been paying for your treatment, while you filthy, ungrateful – ”

“I don’t need that treatment! I’m not crazy! I know you are punishing me with that! I know it! And you expect me to be grateful? You know what, you crazy, old –”

_ Slap. _

It was enough to make him black out for a few seconds. Before he could struggle, the skinny but strong woman had dragged him to the other room, secured him to the special seat – Tom’s throne, as other matrons called it mockingly. 

That seat was where he normally received the “treatment”.

Tom jerked violently, trying desperately to loosen the belt that was tying his arms to armrests. All the horrifying memories about the “treatment” woke up in him and whipped his nerves. A sea of panic drowned him. Every cell in his body screamed  _ away, away and away _ ; he did not even notice the tall, lean man hidden in the shadow.

“Well, well, well…so my little patient is disobedient again. Haven’t we learned anything in our last lesson, Tom?”

The cold voice drew a shocked tremble out of Tom. He turned to the source of the voice – the man in dark coat walked out of shadow; his lips lifted a cruel curl, revealing his yellowed teeth. 

Tom glared at him hatefully – the devil in human clothing. They called him Dr.Lewis, but he knew that man was no doctor, he was just a fraud…the cruel, sick, pervert…

“How long do we need this time, Dr. Lewis?” one of the matrons asked.

“At least two hours, I think, and I might need to adjust the currents to a higher level. Dr. Bender needs to know the upper limit of endurance. We need to record his reaction in detail this time. And by the way,” the man turned to Mrs. Cole, “Dr. Bender is very pleased with our record last time. You are doing us a great favor, Mrs. Cole.”

“It is our pleasure, Dr. Lewis. If there’s anything else we can do, you need only to ask.”

“Ah, thank you, Mrs. Cole, people as open-minded as you are hard to find these days. Dr. Bender is planning something great, you know. This treatment she developed is going to help millions of children and their families – disobedience, mood disorders. Every parent will be grateful for our hard work today.”

The man spread his arms as he talked passionately. The admiring, dreamy look on Mrs. Cole’s face almost made Tom puke. 

“So how is Dr. Bender’s trial going?” another matron asked.

“Under planning, still under planning.” Dr. Lewis shook his head, seemingly disappointed, “Those old men in the committee wouldn’t approve our trial – they are too blind to see how great this can be. But as long as we show them the efficacy – show them how far  _ this treatment _ can go…and our little Tommy here is perfect, so perfect…”

Dr. Lewis approached Tom, who struggled fiercely. 

“What’s your problem again, little devil?” the man asked benignly.

“Bad temper. A big conflict happened between him and another kid a few days ago. He even hung the poor kid’s rabbit, although I’ve no idea how he did it.” Mrs. Cole answered for Tom coldly.

“No! I did not!” Tom shouted. Desperation grasped his heart, he started to feel a numbness in his limbs. He knew the cruel woman had planned this. He was about to have the treatment again – the torture, the pain… 

He wished for nothing but being far, far away from the thin man, from this chair, this room. No, he did not want the treatment, he was not crazy. They had been using it to punish him, and Billy’s rabbit was not entirely his fault, that little shit annoyed him first – he shouldn’t be punished like this. He did not deserve this – 

“Still lying? You see, I hate dishonest kids. They are sinful. Bad kids like you only deserve hell. Do you agree with me, Tom?”

_ …No, not the treatment…not the treatment… _

The man’s wrinkled face was so close to Tom’s; the disgusting smell of cigarettes filled Tom's nasal cavity.

_ …Not the treatment, please, not the treatment… _

“Why haven’t you got him ready yet?” Dr. Lewis suddenly yelled. One of the matrons came forward hastily, tightened the belts, organized the wires connected to the device – it was a complicatedly designed wooden box that could control the currents. There were two electrodes, which would be attached to either side of Tom’s forehead – then they would turn the device on; the current would run through; there would be hot-white pain, the sense that as if thousands of needles pinning inside his brain – the most vulnerable organ, the unprotected soft tissue – even one minute under the torture would be like a lifetime, not to mention two hours of it…

Tom tried to scream – but he was already gagged – he clenched the armrests of the chair at his best strength, his nails almost split under the pressure.

_ …please… _

He saw the man smiled viciously, his finger mercilessly reaching to the switch. He tried to call his mysterious power, never had he wished so hard that it would work: but he knew it wouldn’t – it normally worked on smaller kids or animals – it never worked on grown-ups.

The switch was pressed and everything went white.

=======

Disgusting memories.

Immersed in the echoes of his past, Tom hadn’t noticed Harry shifting closer to him in dream. Driven by warmth, the boy curled comfortably at his side; one of his arms slung over his stomach. His breath tickled Tom’s skin through the fabric of his pajamas.

Tom turned to Harry and gently stroked the boy’s back, feeling the steady rise and fall. He let out a breath. It was almost dawn,  but he wasn’t sleepy at all .

He hadn’t thought of all the humiliating, dark days in the orphanage for a long time. The memories seemed to come back to him all of sudden – memories in which he was called an evil child; punished for things that didn’t even matter; used as a laboratory animal for the grown-up’s benefit.

Oh, the cruelty and arrogance of human beings. It was the first lesson he ever learned about humanity – morality was nothing but a joke, there was no such thing as good and evil. The weak stood as the prey of the strong, it was the natural law of the world.

How could Harry still believe in good in  _ this world _ ? Especially if he had also been mistreated like himself? How naïve. But why did such a stupid boy fascinate him so much?

Through the thin fabric, he could feel every bone in the boy’s spine – the boy was too skinny and malnourished. He looked nothing special, yet he was everything special.

The Obscurial, the time-traveler, the only Parseltongue he knew aside from himself.

The most fascinating puzzle he had ever seen. 

Whenever he thought he had known Harry better, the boy would show him another unknown piece of his mystery. Never once did the boy fail to surprise him. How did Harry find the mirror? What did Harry see in the mirror? He still had so many questions he wanted to ask. But all these unanswered questions were no longer important compared with the bombshell the boy suddenly dropped. 

Harry. The time-traveler.

Tom felt the overwhelming need to sort out all the tangled information in his mind. He should start with what he saw in the mirror – those ambitions that were hidden deep down in his soul.

He saw a revolution, a world that was burnt and rebuilt, a lord who was leading wizards and witches back to the days of glory.

Yes, this was what he desired and what the decaying wizarding world needed. Those weak and pathetic souls were satisfied with lives like mice in the drain, hiding from the peeping eyes of the menial muggles, they had already forgotten the pride and might of magic,  _ but it shouldn’t be like this _ .

They needed a leader to prevent them from heading inevitably downhill. That could only be him. He would take over the world from those mediocre minds who were trying to maintain the hypocritical illusion of equality and peace. He would show them a new horizon where the powerful ruled the world rightfully. 

Therefore power. More power grasped in  _ his hand _ and his hand alone. Purify the impurity, remove the rotten. Right and power shouldn’t and never would be given to the general people. Only the elite and extraordinary would successfully guide the masses through the dark with their strong will.

And not even death – the only weakness of human-beings – could stop him.

He saw his Horcruxes too, and he couldn't help admiring the magic of the mirror. Slytherin’s locket, Ravenclaw’s tiara, Gryffindor's sword, Hufflepuff's cup – he saw the relics of the founders, the remaining of the great. They were the only things that were worthy of his soul. And his diary, too. He had planned the little black book to be his first Horcrux for a long time, for it was a record of his past, and it would become an embrace to the future.

It was indeed a blessed sight, he should have been swelled with ecstasy like everyone else if they were the only things he saw. 

If he wasn’t confused by the sight of the boy in the mirror.

Why did he see Harry in the mirror?

Unlike the other witches and wizards who appeared in the mirror – who were only blurred shadows and mostly kneeling or bowing – the boy stood far away from them but more vivid than everything else. No motions, no expressions, as if he was a pool of still water, silently reflecting the chaos roaming the world. His green eyes pierced into his soul _ as if he knew everything about him _ , but there was no way for Tom to see through the boy; he was still the mysterious and unsolvable puzzle like the real Harry curling in his arms.

Then he realized: Harry was different;  _ Harry was his equal _ . 

He knew he wanted Harry’s power. But since such lethal power was also a potential threat, he would not allow something so dangerous staying by his side for too long; he expected that he would come up with a way to deal with the boy after he had used up everything of him – maybe extracting the Obscure in him – or he wouldn’t have to, since Obscurials usually die at a young age.

But the mirror told him that he did not want to get rid of the boy.

It had taken him a while to figure out what Harry really was – the answer had been in his heart for a long time but he didn’t realize it. But it was obvious,  _ so obvious _ .

He saw Harry in the mirror because Harry was one of the Horcruxes.

How simple, how fitting – if he couldn’t control Harry,  _ just let the boy be a part of him _ . It was the link between the souls, the ultimate way of owning a person.The control over him would be indisputable and irresistible. 

_ A human Horcrux. _

Tom shuddered at the thought. But it was also when rapture caught him. The  Founders’ relics, diary, Harry, plus himself - that made seven pieces of soul.  _ Wasn’t seven the most powerful magical number? _

Layer by layer, the mirror showed him the answer to his present and future, showed him what his heart truly desired – a revolution for the world; Horcruxes for himself.

And the absolute control over the most mysterious, deadly power.

How perfect.

It was a shame that Harry refused to tell him more –his real name and the time he came from remained unknown. The defense of his heart broke only for a moment. His secrets were again sealed perfectly and completely. There was no clue for him to speculate as to who Harry might be.

But it didn’t matter. Harry was here, in this school, in his time,  _ by his side _ – the boy was a gift, and he would seize it and never let go.

No. He would never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The treatment Tom received is inspired by [electroconvulsive therapy](https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1601-5215.2010.00487.x), developed in 1940s by Lauretta Bender, who is a real person in history.


	15. This Disease Was Called...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my gratitude and love to [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid),  
> 

_Names have powers,_

_Those engraved into your soul have become part of your fate,_

_Keep them, my child._

_..._

_You Shall Never Reveal_ _Them._

Harry woke up to a shaft of dazzling sunshine and a much, much brighter mood.

He was still exhausted, but the numbness he had been feeling seemed to be gone. He had no idea how long he had been like that – for the last few weeks it was as if he had lost the ability to feel.

It felt good. Crying all his misery out of his mind, clearing all the pain with his tears. Even when he was living with the Dursleys, he had barely cried in those days locked up in his cupboard. He had never known how good a cathartic moment could be.

Except that he had cried in front of Tom.

Harry let out a loud groan. He almost wanted to slap himself: the long-lasting sobbing and the confession. _“I am from the_ _future”_. Why did he even say that? It was the only thing Dumbledore had warned him not to do. But he had thrown it to the back of his mind completely. And he must have acted stupidly afterward. He remembered how Tom took him back to the Room of Requirement, remembered how the older boy took care of him and even stayed the night – Tom must think he was so weak and childish.

Speaking of Tom –

Tom was not in the room anymore. Not even his belongings. The air was chill. The bed was back to normal as if an Extension Charm had never been cast on it. Except that the room appeared to be neater, there was no sign another person had spent the night here.

A feeling of emptiness and loneliness suddenly clenched his heart. But what was he expecting? He had been bothering Tom for the whole night. And considering what Tom had done for him, he really shouldn’t ask for more, right? The Slytherin prefect had his own business to attend to, he had no such obligation to keep taking care of him the following day.

But he did hope Tom would wake him up before he left, or maybe at least leave a note.

 _A simple “Good morning” would be nice_. Harry sighed, secretly sulking.

He stared vacantly into the room for a while, feeling too lazy to get out of bed. It seemed to be a nice Saturday. He could stay in bed as long as he wanted. But he had work to do – “Over a decade of yearbooks to check” – according to what Tom had assigned him last night.

Maybe he should go to the library to find Tom.

A faint hope secretly raised its head – yes, he could still go to find Tom in the library – but it was then suppressed by a slight reluctance. _There was not even a “good morning”, why should he go to find him so_ _eagerly?_

Maybe he should decide after breakfast – or lunch, depending on what time it was – his stomach was already rumbling. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some bacon…

Then there really was a smell of bacon sneaking into his nose.

 _Living in this room is like living in the magic lamp of Aladdin._ Harry thought contently. _You make a wish, then it comes true._

_But, wait, the Room of Requirement doesn’t provide food._

Harry rushed out of the dormitory. Just as he expected, Tom was sitting at a round table near the fireplace. A small basket of bread and two large plates of sausages and fried eggs with bacon and baked beans on the side were placed on the table. Tom was pouring coffee into two porcelain cups; the dark liquid steamed merrily.

“Good morning, Harry," said Tom, who was busying himself placing knives and forks by the side of plates. He didn't even look up. “I figured it’s about time you wake up. Did you sleep well?”

Harry’s mouth felt suddenly dry. For a while he couldn’t answer – he hadn’t combed his hair yet; he must look so stupid in his pajamas.

“Morning, Tom. Did you –”

“ – go to the kitchen and pick up breakfast? Yeah, I did. A very eye-catching thing to do when I had to float two large plates of food and a hot pot of coffee behind me all the way up to the seventh floor. You’d need to repay me with your hard work later.” Tom finally looked up and fixed him with a stern look, “and it’s noon already. You need to be very _productive_ to regain the lost time.”

Despite the embarrassment, Harry suddenly felt a swelling happiness. The day seemed to be even brighter. _A nice Saturday indeed_. So many good things were waiting for him.

“I’ll change and…catch up with you later.”

“You’d better be quick, the coffee is getting cold,” Tom yelled.

But before the sentence was finished, Harry already rushed back to his room.

And if his heart was racing, it was definitely because he had rushed too fast.

=======

It turned out to be the most delightful breakfast Harry had ever had for months. Tom didn’t mention anything about last night. He just kept casually talking about an accident that had happened in Potion class last week. Harry had no idea what an “Elixir to Induce Euphoria” was and what the consequence would be when sopophorous beans were added before peppermint, but he had never found Tom’s words so fascinating.

Tom urged him to pack up his stuff and go to the library immediately after their “breakfast”. Harry could see how eager Tom was since he hastily led the way the moment Harry grabbed his bag. Though Tom appeared to be anxious, the older boy still occasionally slowed down to wait for Harry to catch up, just like the day when he led him to the Slytherin common room for the first time.

When they passed a classroom on the fifth floor, Tom suddenly halted as if he recalled something.

“Wait here, Harry. I need a word with someone inside there.”

Harry nodded, Tom pushed the door open and entered.

Wondering how long it would take, Harry leaned to the wall, breathing the crisp, autumn-flavored air in. It was the first sunny day after weeks of rain. Almost all of the students were enjoying the luxurious sunshine outdoors. It must be amazing lying under his favorite beech tree and just let the day slip through his fingers, or he could watch Alphard fly because the sky was so beautifully blue and high above. He could do anything. Anything outdoors. While he was _indoors_ , preparing to go to the library and even felt a little excited about it.

What was wrong with him?

It’s the weather, it’s _just_ the weather. Harry told himself. Yet he couldn’t deny the bouncing joy inside him, pumping air into him, making him feel lighter than ever.

He didn’t notice the corridor was blocked at one end.

“It is hard to see you alone these days, Granger. What are you doing here? Why isn’t my disappointing cousin with you?”

Orion Black.

Harry jerked out of surprise. _Of course_. Someone just wouldn’t let him enjoy a day peacefully.

Arms crossed, the Black heir leaned casually to the wall. Abraxas Malfoy was standing by his side, lips curling into the disgusting smirk he always wore. Harry couldn’t see Crabbe and Goyle, which was not a good sign – those dumb sidekicks never left them too far, it meant only one thing –

From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see two bulky shadows sneaking at the other end of the corridor – the exit was completely blocked; he was cornered for sure.

“You are not running away again, Granger. I didn’t want to deal with you when my cousin was present. Now he’s nowhere to stand up for you. You can prepare for your doom now.”

Dragging his wand out, Orion Black stepped forward. Malfoy smirked wider – he had no intention to join the revenge – he didn’t have to; the pathetic Squib Harry Granger didn’t stand a chance even facing Black alone.

“You won’t be able to get away from this, remember what Professor Merrythought said - ”

Harry tried to keep his voice as calm as he could. He could feel the Black heir was different – cunning, cruel, dangerous – Dudley and Draco Malfoy were nothing compared to him. He was the kind of boy who wouldn’t consider the consequences.

“Let’s see whether you’ll survive this or not. If you are lucky, maybe we’ll only leave enough brain damage to _shut you up_.”

Harry shuffled to the door of the classroom, hand secretly reached for the doorknob. He prepared to break into the classroom if things went ugly here – he wondered what Tom's expression would be, hoping he wouldn’t think him a coward –

“What’s happening here?”

The door had opened silently behind him. Tom’s voice rang above his head. A hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him closer. Harry let out a relieved breath. He might have turned to Tom, if it wasn’t the expressions of Malfoy and Black caught his attention.

Both of the boy’s faces suddenly turned white. Eyes widened, jaws dropped. The change was dramatic. Malfoy and Black looked as if the most horrible, unbelievable thing had happened in front of them.

Malfoy whispered something in Black’s ear, looking serious. The dark-haired boy hesitated.

“I asked, what’s happening here?” Tom asked again. He sounded gentle but somehow dangerous.

“Nothing, prefect. We are just greeting our old roommate.”

Black nodded to Tom in his usual pretentious way; Malfoy nodded to Tom too. They both turned and soon disappeared. Harry had never seen them run that fast.

“They have been annoying you, haven’t they?” Tom asked after the boys were gone.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little threatening. No big deal.”

“It won’t happen again, I assure you.” said Tom, quietly.

That hand on his shoulder squeezed. Harry turned to Tom, whose expression was unreadable. But somehow Harry felt more settled.

“We’d better be quick, Harry. Maybe we can at least finish one yearbook or two by dinner.”

Harry hastily followed Tom, who had already turned and headed to the direction of the library. He could hear the delightful chirps of the birds from outside; and there seemed to be a little bird fluttering in his chest too, singing back in resonance.

 _A nice day to spend in the library indeed_. Harry thought joyfully.

========

Harry changed his mind after three hours in the library – _he should be spending his day_ _outdoors_ , not burying himself in ancient, molding books which gave him a nauseated feeling.

And not to mention the seat that was heated up by afternoon sun was making him so drowsy…

“Can we take a break, Tom?”

“A break? You just asked for a break like an hour ago.”

“Yeah…but it was like… _an hour ago._ ”

Tom was like Hermione but worse – at least when you said the right thing, Hermione would give him and Ron a moment to breathe and even lend them her homework – Tom here, however, was more like a slavedriver, unforgiving and brutal.

“Fine then, ten minutes rest. Actually, I need to go to find something.”

Tom left his seat and disappeared behind shelves. Harry had nothing to do but stared vacantly in the blue sky, wondering what Alphard was doing at the moment. Tom returned in less than five minutes, carrying a thick, black book in his arms.

“A History of Time – From Theory to Practice?” Harry read, “where did you find it?”

Harry was pretty sure he had never seen the book before, despite his effort digging up the whole Hogwarts library.

“The Restriction Section,” Tom replied briefly.

 _The Restriction Section of course…_ Harry stared at the heavy book. It looked nice and seemed to be something substantial, unlike the ones he had found before, which were usually vague information at best, or bedtime stories at worst.

“Do you want to have a look?” Tom apparently noticed Harry’s gaze, “There must be a lot of things you want to know, right?”

“I - ” Harry stuttered, “I do. But would it really help me? Even Dumbledore - ”

“Knowledge is always helpful,” said Tom, “and I believe you did try to search for information about time-travel before, didn’t you?”

Harry blushed. It seemed to be a lifetime ago for him. He did try but found nothing useful, then Diagon Alley happened…and then Malfoy…Alphard…life never gave him a break.

“I think you should keep looking, Harry.” Tom continued, “Time magic is the most mysterious and dangerous branch of magic. If you don’t learn about it, you would never know what it is doing to you and all the people around you. You would never know how to avoid some severe consequences that are likely to happen.”

Tom was right. And it was somehow similar to what Dumbledore had implied - _a small breach in the law can result in catastrophic events_ – Harry felt a surge of guilt, he had been too careless and…

“I think it’s a good thing you told me,” said Tom, gently and softly. “You need someone to guide you through this. You are too young to face this alone.”

Harry met Tom in the eyes – they were deep, an abyss out of reach, but it was maybe the endless black in there he found comforting and settling.

Determined, Harry reached for the book, lifting the worn cover carefully – it was a real academic publication, strictly structured and most of all – full of professional, difficult words.

“I can’t read this.” Harry exclaimed desperately after scanning a few pages, “there are like…literally three words I don’t understand in a single sentence! And these marks! What are these marks?”

“Thay are Runes.” Tom looked over Harry’s shoulder, “and I believe some of the spellings come from Runes too. You've never learned Ancient Runes, have you?”

“No! I think it’s not until the third year, right?”

“Yes…Well, I guess this book is indeed too difficult for you then,” said Tom, taking the book away from Harry. “But you can still come back to it one year later, after taking the Ancient Runes class.”

“But – ”

Harry bit his lips. Could he wait another year? Wouldn’t it be too late? He had done many stupid things already, and it had been only one month and a half.

Tom sighed, pinching his nose – he had apparently noticed Harry’s dilemma too.

“You know what, Harry,” said Tom, after a long silence, “I’ll read this for you,”

“Read it for me? How?”

“More like summarize it for you." Said Tom, calmly. "I'm quite interested in teaching. I’ve always been wondering whether I can do it well. I can make a pretty good teacher if I can teach you – a twelve-year-old – a highly advanced subject like time magic. You know, Harry, learning has rules. Any book – no matter how difficult it seems – always follows a certain pattern. They start from the most basic principle, then they branch – into more complicated and advanced theories. But all of the knowledge would fall back to the fundamental rules and can always be summarized and simplified. It’s a harmonious circle. Any magic, any subject.”

Tom talked passionately; he looked genuine. Harry couldn’t move his eyes from him, but he also had other concerns.

“It will take you so much effort to do it.”

“It will, but I’m interested anyway. It can serve as entertainment for me. And I'm not going to give you actual lectures – it's hard to find some extra free periods for both of us. I'll make a summary for you – a simplified learning material – you’ll need to read and learn by yourself. But come to me whenever you have questions, yes?” Tom explained as he put the book into his bag, prepared to restart his task.

“You are overwhelmed with your own business already.” Harry said in disbelief. But Tom only huffed from his nose, didn’t bother to answer.

“You really are not putting that book back?” Harry urged.

“No, Harry. And I think it’s time for you to get back to _your_ work.” Tom didn’t even raise his head.

“I’ll do as much as I can for your search then - ”

“No need to, just do whatever I assigned you. Now, be a good boy and do your job.”

“But Tom - ”

“You got work to do, boy.”

A hand grabbed his chin and forced his face turning to the pile of yearbooks in front of him. The hand felt cooler to his own skin, but somehow Harry felt the part that was touched was heated up – and it kept burning, until his whole face was on fire.

With a fluttering feeling in his chest, Harry tried to concentrate on the yearbook in front of him but couldn’t. The little bird in his chest seemed to be singing even louder. It was a feeling he couldn’t describe and understand.

Except the sun was shining brighter, warming the crisp air, cheering up the most lonely soul.

========

Harry’s days fell into another routine. He would meet Tom three times a week. They would sit in the corner where the golden setting sun would shine through the gothic-styled panel and leave diamond-shaped patterns. Harry's current task was still browsing the piled-up yearbooks, seeking for the faint clue of the name “Marvolo” and maybe a boy who looked like Tom. Tom seemed to have other plans, but he never told Harry about them.

The weather was growing colder. The autumn breeze brought the message of the withering weather. Even though the temperature kept dropping every day, the sunny days continued. The bright sun that hung high above the sky kept Harry in a good mood. Like what Tom had said, Malfoy and his gang never bothered him again. Those boys were still casting him nasty looks, but the prohibition towards him seemed to be lifted. Harry’s Slytherin fellows no longer avoided him wherever he went; Eileen started to invite him to conversations out of Potion class; some first-year girls Harry didn’t know even shyly greeted him in the hallway.

Another change was that Alphard no longer asked him for Quidditch training. Harry wanted to explain how he’d be busy for three days each week but only realized the other boy no longer needed his help. One day he saw Alphard was with Winky Crockett - the Slytherin team Captain – they were apparently talking about their training plan. From then on, Alphard was constantly occupied by other older students who seemed to be his teammates. Harry once came across them in the corridor, they were all in their team suits.

“Listen, Harry, I - ”

“Have fun training, Alphard.” Harry smiled brightly.

The other boy seemed to lose his voice for a while but still smiled back nonetheless.

“I will, Harry. Thank you.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t feel bad about it – he did miss the little awkward friendship with Alphard – it’s just the sense of loss wasn’t strong enough to upset him, for he was now overwhelmed by Tom’s task.

At first, he only went to the library when Tom asked him to, until about two weeks later, Tom handed him a thick notebook.

It was the summary of the time-travel theory book.

To be more precise, it was a summary of the first few chapters of the book. The notebook was filled with Tom’s hand-writing. Neat, old-fashioned words beautifully lined up in the crowded pages. Mysterious figures, lines of plain explanations of the obscure theories, and references marked at the foot – Tom even marked the important definitions in a different color. The theories were still hard for Harry to understand, but one thing was clear –

That he could see how much effort Tom had put into it.

It also carried a short note from Tom:

_Dear Harry:_

_As you may see, this is a crude summary of the book: A History of Time – From Theory to Practice._

_The book is very interesting and well-structured. There are four sections, thirteen chapters in total, providing knowledge from the most basic generalization to the latest progress in the area. The further this book goes, the more in-depth the content becomes. Up till now, I only summarized the first four chapters for you. In this notebook, you would find: the introduction of time magic, the rule of time, the magic principle behind time reversing, and practical spells and runes. If you want to have an overall view of the basic theory, this could serve as a quick-educational material for you._

_I hope you will find it useful. Please kindly let me know if you are ready for further details or the rest of the book._

_Yours Sincerely_

_Tom M. Riddle._

Harry felt an overflow of affection and gratitude. He also found it kind of amusing that someone who was secretly rebellious (and totally took night tours with him) would appear to be pretentious and formal even when he was just writing a casual note to his younger ones. Wouldn’t a simple “Hey Harry, I made you some notes, have fun!” work? Did he have to write like an old man? They were both teenagers who were just three years apart for Merlin’s sake.

But from Harry’s perspective, Tom _was_ an old man.

How old would he be when Harry was born? Sixty-three? Sixty-four? Tom would be his favorite grandpa if they were families. Harry thought with amusement.

And what if Tom really could help him to go back? It was maybe just an illusion since life was going easier for Harry now, but he did start to feel more optimistic. If he could go back, the first thing he would do was finding Tom, giving back his diary, telling him how miserable he had become because of it, reminding him of the days they spent together in the library and all the adventures they had together. Tom would be so surprised, because the little boy he used to help managed to find him fifty years in the future. The twelve-year-old, naïve boy would remain the way he was, and Tom –

Tom would be over seventy by then.

A coldness that was unrelated to the weather suddenly filled his heart. Tom told him that human beings were cruel. But _no, he was wrong about it._

Time was crueler.

It took fifty years away from them without a blink – no, they were separated by fifty years from the beginning. How so? They weren’t supposed to meet, yet the threads of fate guided him, leading him to a road he shouldn’t have crossed.

He couldn't explain why, but he suddenly started to fear - not fearing loss, but fearing an ending without a goodbye. He knew he was being ridiculous – there wasn't even an answer to the question of whether he could go back – yet he was afraid of it. What if the diary's magic disappeared? Would it be possible that he would be thrown back forcefully? He wouldn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to Tom that way.

That was when Harry started to stay as much as he could in the library – half immersing himself in Tom’s summary, half dedicating into Tom’s task. He wanted to know more, more about Tom – or how could he find him in the future if he knew nothing about him except for a name? Would Dumbledore still remember the Slytherin prefect and know where he had gone after leaving Hogwarts? Could Mr. Weasley help to find him? If he didn’t grasp more information about Tom, how would he know where to start?

Harry didn’t limit his search in yearbooks – he needed to save those to browse in front of Tom to pretend he hadn’t been paying an extra amount of time; he couldn’t make Tom suspect he had been searching things he shouldn’t. The suspicious Slytherin might ask him questions.

Questions that he wasn't sure how to answer.

He didn’t know why he felt like that. Why the possibility of leaving and never finding Tom felt so devastating. Tom was just this nice Slytherin prefect he knew for a month or two. The time he spent with Tom was much, much less than the time he spent with Ron and Hermione, but somehow the Slytherin weighed similarly compared to his two best friends.

Why?

Harry didn't know exactly when it had started, but he'd been paying extra attention to tom for a long time. He knew Tom’s little habit of tapping the page when reading; he knew Tom loved to go to the Great Hall late in the noon so he could have his lunch peacefully; he knew that every Wednesday Tom would have Herbology in the fourth period – Harry would intentionally choose a window seat in his DADA class, just to see the older boy walking to the greenhouse with his friends.

What was wrong with him?

He felt he was like a withering plant, with Tom being his only source of nutrition and water. Every minute with Tom was gold, meaningfully fulfilled and incredibly joyful. But when he was not with Tom – all the lonely hours he spent in the library, in the Room of Requirement – the void in his heart grew hollower, roaming with the desperate need of seeing him – just a glimpse would be fine – _anytime, anywhere_.

He thought he might have caught a disease.

He realized it in a sunny twilight when he just finished his last class. He wasn't supposed to see Tom in the library that day. Feeling exhausted, he decided to go back to the Room of Requirement early.

He saw Tom in an almost empty corridor, talking with one of his friends. He seemed to be in a good mood. Harry wanted to call to him but then decided not to. He did not really have to talk to him. Seeing him alone had made him content and happy _-_ even this day had become lovely knowing the older boy was doing good in his life.

Then Tom noticed him and gave him a sunshine-gilded smile. Dust motes were dancing in the golden threads of light, glittering in the long space between them.

Harry’s racing heart told him it was not anything simple anymore. It was something he had never felt and experienced. It was a disease with no cure.

Yet he had hopelessly caught it, since Merlin knew when.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to this song the whole time writing it
> 
> [病名は愛だった](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0nyXVrZkKQ),  
> 


	16. This Disease Was Called... (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many, many thanks to my lovely beta [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid),  
> 

_ …When the paths cross... when the streams meet… _

_ …flows of fates tangles… _

_ …weaving into a new universe… _

_ The threads linked the dark forests. _

_ Together, the earth shall be shaken, the stars shall fall. _

_ This burden on thy shoulder… _

_ …is the weight of the world. _

  
  


"I'm glad to see you studying my notes, Harry."

“Tom!” Harry jolted from his seat, the newspapers piling in front of him scattered everywhere. His pet snake – Thanasis – raised its head from its nap and let out an angry hiss. “You must stop doing that – sneaking from behind and things – it’s creepy!”

Tom looked smug. He pulled out the empty chair next to Harry and sat.

“I’m just glad someone is doing his homework,” said Tom. “It’s nice seeing you here, I thought you’d prefer to go outside. It’s a good sunny day today, you know.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Harry hastily tried to cover the mess in front of him – yes, he was doing his secret search again, but unfortunately, he could not let Tom find out that he had been searching for the older boy’s middle name rather than the things he had been assigned.

The more unfortunate thing was: Tom seemed to notice what he was doing.

“Newspapers. Harry? Are these your homework too?”

“I – I’m just,” Harry’s mind raced crazily to come up with an excuse, “well, r-remember my old man habit? I’m just – just browsing newspapers again. You know, I have to know what happened in this era,” he straightened his back and cleared his throat. “Life is hard for us time-travelers, yeah.”

Harry didn’t miss the amused look on Tom’s face. The date in the closest newspaper was 1925.10.25, which had apparently caught Tom’s attention too.

"Really?" The older boy's amusement was almost tangible. "I’m glad you are doing such thorough work. I’m sure it will be well paid, because, you know, someone is definitely going to ask you about things that happened like…five years before you were born.”

Harry could feel cold sweat prickling on his back. He hastily broke the eye contact with Tom, wished desperately the burning sensation on his face was just his imagination.

“…I-it’s hard to say, alright?” He cleared his throat again. “Anyway, I didn’t expect you would come today, what brought you here?” 

"Every student has his right to come to the library anytime, Harry." The older boy's smile became wider. “You don’t mind me joining you, do you?”

Harry shook his head – of course he didn't mind – it was the most pleasant surprise he could think of. He roughly swept the mess on the table to leave Tom more space. 

“And since I’m here, do you have any questions about my notes? I’ve been expecting you to come to me for over a week. But you didn’t. Any thoughts? Questions?”

Oh, Tom had been expecting him.

“Well, I’ve been really slow…and I don’t want to bother you too much, so…”

“Oh, yes, I can see how slow you are,” the older boy narrowed his eyes, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “You are apparently…still on the first page…well seriously, Harry, it’s been almost two weeks. Don’t tell me it’s the first time you opened my notes.”

Now the burning sensation on Harry’s face was definitely not an imagination.

“Of course not! I’ve read it – at least twice! It’s hard, OK? Even the first page has so many things I don’t understand. Like…this one. What does this poem even mean? It’s talking about paths, streams, forests, and sort of things. How are these related to time magic? 

"Those, Harry," Tom snorted, "are just some lines they found in ancient literature. I copied it because it appeared several times in the introduction part and was considered to be the most ancient reference of time theory. I doubt the authors considered it important. It’s just the oldest thing they could find.”

“But didn’t you say the books always started from the most basic principle?”

“I did, but…” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, “…not anything under the subtitle ‘ _ the most ancient myth of time magic _ '. It's a myth, Harry. There is nothing practical about it. It's the kind of thing I usually skip, to be honest."

“Oh,” said Harry, disappointed, “but this sounds a little familiar to me. I’ve got a feeling that I might have heard it somewhere.”

"Maybe from some of the time-travel story books you read before? But Harry, you need to focus more on the theory part, that’s the part that really matters.”

_ And it’s also the part I would never understand.  _ Harry thought, secretly sulking. Tom never understood something so obscure and difficult was never meant for an untrained, mediocre mind like his.

And he wasn’t lying about hearing the poem somewhere. Not reading it from somewhere -he _ heard _ it. Someone had said it – _ had whispered it _ – to him. The mysterious sentences had power, like the pitch-black midnight sky – empty at first glance, yet there were countless worlds hidden behind the constellations. 

“Harry, since we are both here, I think maybe I can teach you this, you know. I think it’s fine if we keep our voices down, or we go to find an empty classroom. Either way is fine, I suppose…”

He must have been thinking for so long that Tom misread his dilemma. 

“No, no…you don’t need to,” Harry hastily put the notebook away. “In fact I’m just about to take a break from it. I think I’ve figured most of it out. Thank you, I shouldn’t keep you from your work.”

Tom looked a little disappointed.

“Fine. I’ll just mind my own business and you…you can continue your old man habit.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

Harry let out a breath of relief and turned back to the pile of newspapers. It seemed Tom hadn’t suspected a thing…He could have asked Tom some basic questions about the notes, but he didn’t want to look stupid when he hadn’t read them thoroughly…he had to come up with some questions, some good ones that could impress him, maybe next time, maybe…

Just as his thoughts were wandering, the older boy suddenly stood up, head raised in alert.

"Harry, I need to go to check something, it might be a while," Tom said briefly, leaving their seats and heading to the direction of the entrance.

Before Harry could answer, Tom had already disappeared behind the shelves.

  
  


=======

  
  


It really was a while.

Thanasis had returned to his nap. It was such a peaceful afternoon. Everything was quiet and still, even the scratching sound of parchments seemed far away from him. Harry so was immersed in what he was doing, he forgot about the surrounding completely.

He needed a capitalized M. A seven-lettered name. Marvolo.

_ Marvolo, Marvolo, Marvolo. _

Old newspapers were the worst thing. How could any old men read this? The letters were too small, too crowded, all blurred because of the old printing. Not to mention some parts were too worn to read. 

_ I’ll definitely need to bring a magnifier next time, or this is going to kill my vision. _ Harry thought, rubbing his sore eyes.

_ Marvolo, Marvolo, Marvolo. _

It was like searching for a fish in the ocean. A seven-letter long fish. A fish started with an M. A fish hide itself in millions, millions of other similar fishes. Harry wished he knew a spell that could search a certain combination of letters, or he could only rely on a faint hope that the fish would someday pop out and say hi itself.

_ “ _ _ – the trial sentenced Marvolo Gaunt - ” _

_ What? _

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck him, his mind went blank.

_ Marvolo Gaunt. Marvolo. _

_ The fish. _

Harry’s palms were sweating. He clenched the newspaper hard; he couldn’t believe his eyes;  _ couldn’t believe his luck _ . He confirmed it again and again – it was exactly the spelling, those small, black letters formed the name they had been digging for so long.

_ M-A-R-V-O-L-O. _

It was a short report about a trial in the most humble position on the fifth page of the Daily Prophet on October 25th, 1925. The paper was yellowed and fragile, the blurred printing had made the report hard to read. It seemed Marvolo Gaunt was charged for several counts and sentenced to some imprisonment. But Harry had no patience for details. Whatever they were, Harry didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the name, the strange name that belonged to a middle-aged man, who was apparently very bad-tempered according to the report.

He had found the name! After all those yearbooks they browsed, after all the time they had wasted, he found it in a newspaper.

Harry couldn’t help his excitement, he must let Tom know about this. This must be it! That must be the man they had been looking for!

He folded the newspaper carefully, left his seat, and headed towards the direction where Tom disappeared.

  
  


=======

  
  


It took him a while to find Tom. The library was too big and he had no idea where Tom had gone. Finally, he recognized Tom’s back at the entrance – the older boy was leaning against one of the windows in the corridor, apparently engaging in a conversation with someone.

And that someone was a girl, Harry realized. And she somehow looked familiar.

He approached close enough to see the long glossy dark curls, plump cheeks, and graceful neck of the girl. Elegance radiated from her as if she came out from a painting. Her beautiful, large eyes sparkled like jewelry as she looked up to meet Tom’s gaze.

She was such a pretty girl.

And on Tom’s face, there was an expression he had never seen before. It was the softest, most gentle smile – the perfect curl on his lips, the tenderness in his eyes – it was somehow dazzling, even the daylight that shone through the glass couldn’t compare with it. 

Tom must really like her.

It hit Harry hard, invoking a humming sound inside him. A numbness suddenly enveloped him, blocking him from the rest of the world; it didn’t even occur to him that the girl was talking to him.

“ – I asked, what are you doing here?”

She sounded offended; Harry must have interrupted something important between them. 

"You are the one who has been sticking to my younger brother, aren't you?"

Harry blinked.  _ Oh _ . That was why the girl looked familiar. How could he not recognize her in the beginning? Alphard had definitely mentioned her to him before.

The girl was Walburga Black, the elder sister of Alphard Black.

Walburga flipped her long hair. Harry could see the resemblance now – they both had gray eyes, dark hair, and were both tall for their age. The elegance in their gestures was precisely the same.

What made them different was the cold, arrogant expression on her face, which made her look more like Orion.

“I - I need to talk to Tom,” said Harry. But his voice came out shaky.

“Tom?” Walburga raised her eyebrows. "Haven't learned the manners here, little one? No one calls him Tom. Except for me.”

Walburga cast a tender look to Tom, who didn’t even move his eyes from her.

He wouldn’t even look at Harry.

An indescribable fire was suddenly ignited inside him. The angry flame licked his guts, driving his voice uncontrollably loud. 

“Oh, really?” he retorted coldly, “Are you sure there’s such a rule or is it just your imagination? I’ve been calling him Tom for almost two months, and guess what? He seems fine with it.”

The retort had obviously irritated Walburga, who stepped forward and dragged out her wand.

“You little - ” Walburga hissed in fury. She was almost one head taller than Harry. The tip of her wand was spitting sparks, but Harry didn’t even flinch.

“Harry - ”

It was Tom this time. Harry’s eyes snapped to the older boy immediately.

But Tom was  _ frowning  _ at him.

“Walburga, give us a moment, would you?” Tom turned back to the girl again, “I assure you it won’t be long.”

That didn’t seem to calm Walburga, for the dirty look she tossed Harry was murderous. But she still lowered her wand and stepped away obediently. Tom led Harry to the neighboring corridor.

“What are you doing, Harry?” he asked as soon as they were alone.

“What are  _ you _ doing?” Harry snapped. “Oh, you don’t need to explain it to me. I get it. Apparently you need to woo some pure-blood girl to get some disgusting, grown-up things to do!”

“Woo?” Tom frowned.

Right, Tom was an old man who didn’t know these kinds of words.

“Courting, pursuing, whatever.” The fire kept burning, yet Harry had no idea where the fuel came from. His voice grew louder, uncaring whether it would catch other people’s attention. "Anyway, I’ve got you something you might be interested in. Just…read this damn thing and... _ whatever _ . I'm leaving now. Good day." 

Harry shoved the newspaper into Tom’s hand, ignoring the older boy’s confused look. Tom tried to drag him by the elbow, but Harry shook him off.

“Harry, your stuff is still in the library!” Tom called after him.

“Why do you even care?” Harry called back in fury, “Just go back to your lovely lady.”

Then he stormed away down the corridor, couldn’t bear to look back.

  
  


=======

  
  


What was wrong with him?

Leaning against the closest wall, Harry managed to calm down his breath. With a palm on his chest, he felt his heart was still racing.

_ What was wrong with him? _

His stuff was probably still under his seat. How long was Tom’s date going to last? Could he endure seeing those two again at the entrance? Or maybe he could go back when the library was about to close. There weren’t so many people visiting that corner anyway. He just hoped Thanasis would hide itself properly. Or Tom would probably look after it for him, who knew?

Tom…

The thought of the older boy brought him a cold spike of pain, stabbing and twisting inside without mercy. The agony was  so intense , he had to bite his lips to swallow his groan. 

But the harder he suppressed, the more real it became.

The corridor was as silent as midnight, like the still emptiness filling inside him: so void that everything could echo a wave of aches. He could not bear it, could not live with it.

He needed a place with sound.

Just as he thought so, he heard a small tinkle of glass bottles coming from the other end of the corridor. 

It was from the direction of the Potions classroom. But it was the weekend. Who would come to the Potions classroom at the weekend?

Harry approache d the classroom and quietly pushed the door open – there was no one except a girl in there. Harry could only see her back. She was standing in front of her cauldron, reading a book in her hand. The cauldron was full of steaming liquid, with fire silently licking the bottom; various bottles and ingredients crowded on her table.

Eileen Prince, of course.

“Good afternoon, Harry.” said the girl, without even raising her head. “Close the door, would you?”

“How did you know it’s me?” Harry asked.

“Because I only told you that I would be here when there’s no class,” said the girl, proudly. “I’m glad you finally decided to join my Potion after-school club.”

“What? Oh, no, I just…" Harry stuttered. A Potion after-school club was the last thing he wanted to do. But before he figured out how to reject the girl politely, Eileen cast a glance at Harry and dropped the book she was holding.

“You’ve got troubles, Harry?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m fine.”

“Your face said otherwise.” The girl smiled slyly, “Well, I guess this can wait. I’m not making progress anyway.” She waved her wand and extinguished the fire. “Spill it then, who’s the problem?”

“Well, he - ”

“It’s a  _ he _ ?”

Harry didn't miss the chance of seeing the girl's astonishment.

“I – wait, why can’t it be a he?” Harry asked in a daze.

"Oh, Harry," the girl explained slowly, shaking her head, "It's so obvious you are having love trouble! I can tell from your look. But I’ve never expected it’s a boy…so you like boys…Oh wait, so you are the type, aren’t you?”

“What type?”

“You know,  _ the type _ .” Eileen waved her hand impatiently, as if it was a primary-school-leveled maths problem that Harry should have surely understood, “You know, boys normally like girls. But you, and your type, like boys - your same gender!”

“But wait, who said I liked him? Who said I had love trouble? I don't have love trouble. I don’t like him in that way.”

“Oh, Harry,” the girl’s smile widened, “let’s confirm something first, shall we? Do you think about him all the time?”

“Err, I don’t know. I probably thought of him a lot recently, but it’s just because - ”

“Do you look at him all the time?”

“I don’t! I mean, I don’t have that many chances seeing him anyways, but - ”

“Do you want to be with him all the time?”

“I have to be around him sometimes, sure, but - ”

“Does it hurt you when you see him with someone else?” the girl interrupted, smirking, “I mean a romantic relationship, of course. And oh, by the way, I didn’t use the word jealous because I don’t think you understand that word, _ little boy _ .”

Harry’s mind snapped back to the pair. The gentle sunshine, the lovely smile, the gorgeous, pretty girl who would make everything else in the world pale like a ghost.

Jealousy. It was jealousy.

He suddenly understood why he had been feeling like that – and all those feelings that had haunted him for weeks: the gold-gilded joy, the hollow loneliness, the autumn-colored expectation, the cold, numb disappointment.

And the burning, crimson pain of jealousy.

He thought it was a disease that he had caught. But, no, he was just in love.

Or maybe, this disease was called love.

He decided not to look at the smug expression on the girl’s face. Why had he been so blind? He liked Tom. Why hadn’t he noticed that?

"You are having a love trouble, Harry. You like a boy. You are the type,” Eileen concluded smugly, but Harry could hear a slight concern in the girl’s voice.

“It’s…maybe not so bad,” the girl continued, “It’s not encouraged, though. Especially in pure-blood families. But you are not a pure-blood anyway, so - ”

She trailed off. But Harry already sensed where she was going.

Homosexual. Was it the word? Harry vaguely remembered Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking about “the type” with contempt. “Freaks”, was what they called them.

“Freak”, like what they always called him too.

Was he also one of the freaks in his love life? Was he the type?

He had never thought about it. The way he felt for Tom was new. There hadn’t been enough time for him to figure out what it was. But once he did, it couldn’t make more sense. 

But what was the role of gender in this?

He had known many other boys whom he was friends with – Ron, Neville, Dean…he was sure he had never felt like that for them. They were just friends. Yet he had never seen Tom as a boy whom he could only be friends with. If he liked Tom because he was “the type”, shouldn’t he have felt the same for other boys as well?

“Well, Eileen,” said Harry, after a long silence, “I don’t know whether I’m the type or not. But it’s not because he is a boy, I’d like him too if he was a girl. Or even if he was a monster, I’d still like him the same. Whatever I feel for him – and the amount of the feeling – won’t change. I like him because he is –”

– because he was Tom.

“Even if the chance he feels the same about you is much smaller?” Eileen asked abruptly.

Harry didn’t like the sympathy in Eileen’s tone. He didn’t like where it was going. He thought of Walburga’s arrogant smile. And her cherry lips, her glossy hair, her elegant long neck. She was so beautiful, so perfect, a girl who lived in every boy’s dream. No one would even look at him if they were standing together – no, Harry wouldn't even have the eligibility to stand together with her – that girl was a gift from heaven. Of course Tom would choose her over him. It made fucking sense.

Except the spiking agony inside him was so real too.

“I don’t care,” said Harry. He hoped he had kept his voice steady. “I don’t care,” he repeated. “I’ll be happy as long as he is happy. I’m sorry, Eileen.” He forced a smile onto his face. “I – I need to go now. Thank you for the talks.”

“Harry, wait - ”

“I’ll – I’ll see you on Monday I guess.” Harry hastily finished. He couldn’t bring himself to make any conversation now.

“You are always welcome to my Potion after-school club, you know,” the girl yelled behind his back.

But Harry was not listening anymore. He rushed out of the classroom – in contrast to what he had felt before, he desperately needed some place to stay alone.

And maybe a cry.

And maybe a mourn that the first love in his life would never be returned in the way he wanted.

  
  


=======

  
  


“You’ve got yourself a little admirer.” Walburga looked in the direction where Harry had disappeared with interest. “Poor little boy, obsessed with the heartless Tom Riddle. He’s going to be heartbroken.”

“You mean Harry?”

“Who else would that be?” Walburga smirked. “Tom, you are always a little dense about this. Do you remember how many hints I had to drop?”

Of course he remembered. Days after days he had to tolerate the girls’ gossip and giggles whenever he passed by, endure the intimacy he never enjoyed in the tiring relationship. It was both fortunate and unfortunate that Walburga Black was the one – the bright girl could even figure out the pattern of his magic, not even his repelling charm could stop her sneaking around his territory.

But considering the surname and fortune the Black girl was bearing, he might as well just play along – it was convenient, an advantage he could use when it became necessary.

But Harry? The little boy liked him?

That was quite… _ interesting _ .

Tom looked down at the newspaper Harry had brought him. The yellowed paper made the words hard to distinguish. Letters were blurred by passing time, messages were extinguished along with the fading memories.

Yet there was still something that caught his attention.

His heart leaped a beat when he saw the name – the seven letters in that special order, the name that had haunted him for so long.

_ His middle name. _

“ – anyway Jean and I will be meeting at twelve, then going to lunch together. You must join us this time. I’ve been talking about you for ages. Then we go to Hogsmeade together – When was the last time you went to Hogsmeade? You’ve been staying in the library and your own dormitory all the time. What is wrong with you?"

Walburga was still rattling.

“Maybe next time, Walburga.” Tom kept his smile polite. “I have assignments to do.”

“Oh, like I’d believe that - ”

“ – and it’s Riddle for you, Walburga. Manners here, remember?”

With the perfect smile on his lips, Tom turned away. The repelling charm would soon fade if the caster was not around. His boy’s things and pet were still there; he had to make sure they were safe. He couldn't care less about the impact of his words on Walburga – there was no need bothering anymore. 

Because this floating duckweed had found his solid root. A string he could track to the most respectful ancestor, a foundation of his future glory and rise of power.

And it was all thanks to Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aquamarine-w)  
> (Since I'm posting art more frequently now I'm comfortable introducing my art account here, you'll know I'm alive when I'm not updating.)


	17. Back to Where You Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3000 thanks to [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid) as always  
> can never do this without you :sluglove:

Gaunt. Marvolo Gaunt.

_The House of Gaunt._

The long-lost Sacred Twenty-Eight. The last direct descendents of Salazar Slytherin. They were known for their ability to speak Parseltongue but had been lost a long time ago in the mists of history.

He belonged to the house of Gaunt.

Tom had thought about the possibility when he first read about the mysterious family. He knew it couldn’t be a coincidence that they shared the rare ability to speak the snake language. There must be a link. But he had always wondered where the last piece of the puzzle would be.

And now Harry had found it for him, in an old, yellowed newspaper, in the most humble report that was long buried under the merciless piling ages. 

What a genius boy.

How did Harry think of newspapers in the first place? Had he really just been trying to learn about this era from newspapers? Or had the boy been secretly searching for him all the time?

_Or was it because Harry was a time-traveler so he had known it all along?_

Tom held the newspaper tightly in his hand. Countless questions were swirling in his head. Harry had left without another word. He hadn’t even had the chance to thank him for the priceless gift. 

He waited eagerly for Harry to come back and pick up the things he had left in the library, but the boy didn't. When the library was about to close, Tom could not wait any more, so he decided to take Harry's things to him.

Sighing, Tom collected Harry's belongings that had been left messily scattered on the table. He could not find Harry's snake – that little creature must have slipped away sometime in the day. But he put everything else in Harry's bag and set off to the Room of Requirement.

But in front of that empty wall, after he walked past for the third time, the door to the room didn’t appear. 

He tried again and again. No matter how many times he paced back and forth, switching the phrases as he stomped impatiently – no matter whether it was "the fake Gryffindor common room Harry lives in", or "the place where Harry feels safe" – the door wouldn't appear.

This meant only one thing: Harry was in there - and unlike that day when he brought Harry breakfast – the boy did not allow him to go in anymore.

Exhausted and frustrated, there left nothing for Tom to do. He left Harry’s bag on the floor, and hoped that teachers on patrol wouldn’t walk into it.

And hopefully, that boy would find it the first thing in the morning when he came out.

Then he left the corridor, heading to his own dormitory, feeling resentful for no reason.

  
  


====Monday===

  
  


Tom thought about finding Harry after his class on Monday, but he didn’t have the chance. 

“Tom Riddle!”

Walburga Black stormed up to him right after Dumbledore announced the class was over. Her beautiful face was full of fury. Her long curly hair wasn’t as glossy and neatly combed as usual, and her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, as if she had been crying all night.

“What did you mean _by that_ yesterday!” 

It was quite a scene. Students who hadn’t left the classroom all turned to them, whispering to each other with curiosity. From the corner of his eye, Tom saw Dumbledore peek through his half-moon spectacle with intense interest.

Worst scenario ever.

“Walburga, would you please…talk with me in private? Not here. People are watching…”

“Oh, so you can play with my feelings again? No way! We must clear things up. Right here, right now! My friends will be my witnesses!”

Behind her, two other girls crossed their arms, stared at Tom warily.

“As you wish, my lady.” Seeing that Walburga wouldn’t give up easily, Tom straightened his back. He lifted a perfect smile on his lips, looking directly into Walburga’s eyes. “But I don’t understand what you meant. When have I ever played with your feelings?”

“AM I YOUR GIRLFRIEND OR NOT! You were so rude to me! What did that even mean yesterday! Didn’t you tell me I was the only one who could call your name?”

It was technically not true. Walburga started to call him Tom without his invitation. He just didn’t stop her. That made Walburga feel special, and girls tended to do anything stupid for their crush as long as they thought they were the special one.

“That’s not true, Walburga. I have never promised you anything. I am terribly sorry if I have given you the wrong idea. But I have never, ever considered anyone as a girlfriend. I believe right now I have more important things to do other than keeping a romantic relationship. Now if you would excuse me - ”

That was the moment when he saw a group of junior Slytherins walking outside the classroom through the window. He wondered whether it was the second-years, if it was – 

“No! Riddle, you are not getting away from this! We are not over!”

Tom didn’t hear the incantation, but it must have been a stinging jinx – or worse, because aside from pain, something on his back started to swell and leak. The girls grabbed the back of his robe and tore it fiercely – 

Things got ugly after that. Tom ended up in the Hospital Wing for a few hours. By the end of the day, the rumor that Tom Riddle had ditched Walburga Black and the "Valkyrie" Black lady had beaten him up so badly that he needed to go to the Hospital Wing spread everywhere. He thought of threatening people to shut up. But once the sparks had become a wildfire, you might as well just pour yourself a cup of tea and watch it burn.

And that was literally what he did.

Sipping his cup of tea, he sank himself into his favorite armchair in the common room, avoiding everyone else’s eyes. Luckily it seemed that his dignity as a prefect hadn’t faded completely. No one dared to point and laugh at him openly.

It would be a comfort if he could see Harry in this annoying crowd of people, he thought gloomily.

But unfortunately, it wasn’t likely to happen.

  
  


===Tuesday===

  
  


Tom didn’t see Harry the next day either. It was supposed to be one of their meet-up days. Tom waited and waited in the library, until it became obvious that the twelve-year-old boy wouldn’t appear. Then he went to the Room of Requirement again, in the hope that Harry might have changed his mind.

But he changed _his_ mind when he was standing in front of the empty wall in the seventh-floor corridor.

The bag he put on the floor on Sunday night had disappeared (as expected). He wondered whether it was Harry who took it. He hadn't seen the boy in two days. Normally he wouldn't care such a small thing, but his unanswered questions and the unsaid thank you had made him uneasy, and that was the first time Harry hadn’t shown up to their meet-up.

But if Harry had changed his mind about whether to allow him to enter or not, he would have come to the library earlier today.

Tom didn’t try to summon the hidden door this time. He just stood there for a long while, sighed heavily, then turned away with determination. Why bother when he knew he wouldn’t be welcomed?

He wondered how Harry was doing these days. He had many information sources other than asking the boy himself, but he was reluctant to make inquiries. The Walburga drama hadn’t faded from people’s thoughts completely. Showing interest towards Harry would appear to be ridiculous in the sensitive moment.

So it was another day that ended with regrets, Tom thought, as he walked through the dark corridors in an even darker mood.

  
  


===Wednesday===

  
  


On Wednesday, Tom could not hold back anymore.

He vaguely remembered the first class of the day for the second years was Transfiguration. Unfortunately, he desperately wanted to avoid that classroom – or the annoying old professor who had been perching in that classroom, to be more specific. He had come across Dumbledore in the corridors several times since the Walburga incident. He was pretty sure that old fool's smile had nothing good in it; not to mention those weird greetings ("How have you been, Tom?", "How's your back, Tom?") which accompanied a visible amusement and an extra amount of unneeded kindness.

Annoying. So annoying.

So, no. Maybe he could go to see Harry after the Potion class, which should be in the last period for the second-years. 

He could pretend he was there to see Professor Slughorn, he happened to have some academic issues he wanted to ask the potion master…

But he forgot how much the professor _loved_ to have him visit.

“Come in and sit, my boy!” Professor Slughorn greeted him passionately, leading him to the office that was at the far end of the classroom. Tom was only in time to catch a glimpse of the back of Harry’s head. The boy’s messy hair was so eye-catching in the crowd of second-years. It was the first time he had seen his boy that week.

He wished he hadn’t come up with the stupid excuse that he needed to see Professor Slughorn, for the professor’s grip was so firm that it was impossible for him to get away and talk with Harry.

And Harry. Harry looked like a total stranger – _so distant_. Harry wasn’t like this before. He remembered how Harry looked up to meet him in the eyes, how Harry’s expression was always full of admiration, how Harry used to call him Tom shily.

Harry really liked him.

Why had he been so blind? Why hadn’t he noticed that?

Tom watched Harry disappeared from the door (faster than everyone else in the classroom) and cursed himself inwardly. 

  
  


===Thursday===

  
  


Then it was today, Thursday.

Tom was no longer holding the hope that Harry might come to the library. But he still arrived at the time they had agreed, waited, and left at the hour when the library was almost closed. He didn’t bother to go to the Room of Requirement this time. Instead, he stepped into the Slytherin common room as usual. Thanks to the effort of his Knights, the gossip about Walburga and him had basically died down. 

In front of the fireplace, Rosier had already saved his favorite armchair for him.

“I’m calling a KoW meeting tomorrow,” said Tom as he sank himself into the soft cushion.

“Still Classroom B27?” asked Rosier, handing Tom a cup of hot tea.

“No, I have a better choice this time. Although we’ll have to start it a little earlier,” Tom said thoughtfully, sipping his tea.

“Inform all the knights and tell them to clear their schedule tomorrow night. It’s going to be long.”

  
  


===Back to Wednesday ===

  
  


That was close.

With a hand on his chest, Harry tried to calm his breath. He ignored Eileen’s yell behind him (“Harry! Are you leaving me to this mess?”), fled out of the Potions classroom in a rush. Yes, he panicked, and to his defense, that was not humiliating at all.

Because he hadn’t expected to see Tom there. 

He pushed the door of the Room of Requirement open with a shaky hand, climbed all the way to his dormitory, threw his bag on the floor and then threw himself on one of the empty beds. His books and quills scattered on the bed next to him (Ron's bed if it was his old dormitory). The paper wraps which were used to pack food from the kitchen were littering everywhere on the floor. 

The best thing about living alone in a massive space was that you could spread your stuff messily everywhere without bothering. Harry was not in the mood for tidying. If possible, he wanted to stay alone and let it be this way forever.

He wasn't in the mood to meet people either, let alone talk. He remained completely absent-minded when Eileen tried to drag him into conversations (the girl gave up after a few tries). Not to mention there was something specific that he didn't want to hear at all. 

But it happened to be very hard to avoid _that something_ completely. Just about Monday and Tuesday, there were some whispers about an incident that had happened between Tom and Walburga. Harry covered his ears instinctively when the names found their way in, but he still got the vague information that Walburga seemed to have had a fight with Tom, who ended up spending a few hours in the Hospital Wing.

_Domestic between two love birds, urgh,_ he thought.

And if he couldn’t even bear to hear the older boy’s name, meeting him was definitely something he avoided even harder. He didn’t go to their Tuesday meetup. He couldn’t face Tom after all that, and recalling how stupidly he had reacted that day again and again was making it worse. 

That was why he hid himself all night inside the Room of Requirement on Tuesday, inwardly squirming, unable to do anything else either. 

But he had to confess there was a small, teeny, tiny part of him expecting Tom would come to look for him. 

But no, nothing.

Then he decided it was time to stop all the silliness. Cut the string, gather himself up. He could not let the older boy ruin the already horrible life of his. Life had to go on. He must stop hanging all his hope on an impossible person. 

And hopefully, time would someday heal all the pain

And then Wednesday, a simple glimpse of Tom ruined all his determination again.

His heart leaped a beat when Tom appeared in the potion classroom after class, but he wasn’t looking for him, he was looking for Professor Slughorn.

Harry hated himself so much, for his mind was so weak and his stupidity was so hopeless. How could he still naively dream that Tom would actually care about him? He was just a junior student who happened to catch a little of his attention, nothing more.

Then it was Thursday. Harry determined that he would never go to the library again. It should be the first step where he cut himself off from all the tangled agony, and maybe, the first step back to his normal life, or whatever had counted as normal before. 

Except he missed Tom so much. And it suffocated him, harder than he could have imagined. 

  
  


===Friday===

  
  


Friday night.

Harry stood in front of the empty wall where the entrance of the Room of Requirement was supposed to be, having no idea what to do and _panicking_ again.

He had walked past this wall for so many times, and never once had things gone wrong. But no matter how he tried this time, the door of the Room of Requirement wouldn’t appear.

Clenching his hands into fists, Harry tried to calm, thinking about the last time when he successfully had the door open. What was the phrase he usually used? “The place where I am safe”, “the Gryffindor dormitory I’m living in”. They all wouldn’t work.

_Calm down, Harry. Calm down. You are not concentrating. Calm down…_

Harry could hear people's voices coming from the other end of the corridor. He couldn't stand in front of an empty wall all the time, or there would be questions. He thought about leaving for a while, going out for a walk and then came back, maybe it would work later. But it was already the third time when he left and returned to the spot – nothing had changed.

And it was almost curfew.

Harry threw his bag on the floor and sat on it – he was already too exhausted, _too terrified_ that he would lose his only shelter. He knew he should probably go back to the Slytherin common room, but he would rather go hell.

It was like the first night he ran out of the Slytherin common room all over again. Harry vaguely remembered how he had been determined to spend the night on a spiral staircase near the Gryffindor common room, reluctant to return to the snake den because he didn’t want to face the Malfoy gang.

He was still reluctant to, except this time it was because he didn’t want to face Tom.

The corridor grew darker and darker. Harry had no idea how long he had been sitting there. It must be way past curfew. The air had become freezingly cold, Harry couldn’t help shivering.

Sighing heavily, Harry stood up and decided to try one more time. If the room still wouldn't open, he would need to find another place to spend the night - someplace less open and maybe warmer, then tomorrow, he would think about what to do.

Just as he thought so, someone lit their wand in the dark corridor.

“Who is there?”

It was Professor Merrythought, who strode to Harry within a few steps. 

“Mr. Granger,” said the old professor. “What are you doing here? It’s after curfew already. You shouldn’t be outside your common room.”

“I - I…” Harry stuttered, unable to come up with an excuse.

The woman sighed, but she seemed to understand Harry’s difficulties.

"Normally I'd take fifty points from your house, but not this time," she said, frowning. "I know you are having a hard time with your housemates. I understand why you want to avoid them. I wish I could provide more help."

Merrythought flicked her wand and conjured two chairs out of thin air, then gestured Harry to sit. Harry took the seat gratefully.

"I agree some of your housemates are not easy to get along with, Mr. Granger. But human beings were never meant to live alone. No one is a lonely island. Everyone is more or less linked and everyone has his way to merge into the group. There might be arguments – even conflicts – but that is exactly how people get along with each other." She put one hand on Harry's shoulder and lightly squeezed. "Don't run away from them. Avoiding problems is never the best solution. You should let other students see the kind and brave heart inside you. And with your effort and some time, there will be people who understand you and support you. Bravely face it, would you, Harry?"

Harry lowered his head in shame. Professor Merrythought had misunderstood his dilemma – it was not about all the isolation and Malfoy’s gang anymore. His troubles were so insignificant – so _stupid_ compared with the vision Professor Merrythought just shared with him.

“Yes, madame, I will,” he responded in a whisper.

Merrythought nodded, then gestured for Harry to stand up and vanished the chairs. Harry picked up his bag and followed Professor Merrythought, who was leading him back to the dungeon.

Back to the Slytherin common room for the first time in two months.

  
  


=======

  
  


To Harry’s relief, the common room was almost empty. Only a few senior students Harry didn’t know were gathering in the corner and playing Gobstones. Tom wasn’t there, and neither were any second-year students Harry knew.

It was good that he didn’t need to face Malfoy, or any members from that gang. And of course it would be his last choice to go back into his own dormitory. He would not let Malfoy and Black have the chance to mock him after his two-month disappearance.

The common room was indeed better than the corridor – warmer, cozier. Even though the greenish light had given it a creepy and gloomy atmosphere, and the fact that it was partly under water made it uncomfortably damp. But at least the fire was merrily cracking in the fireplace, and the armchairs and couches looked like fluffy heaven. Harry found the most squashy armchair, toed off his shoes, and curled up into the cushions.

It was the best treat he could have after a long, exhausting day. Harry thought contently, his head nodding into a doze.

Then he fell into a dreamless sleep, a perfect ending to the whole crazy, lonely week.

  
  
  


It must be sometime around midnight.

Harry was woken from his light sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he wondered what had alerted him.

_Someone was moving in the dark_ , he realized.

He could tell from the sound of robes rustling, people breathing, and most importantly, _steps_.

Steps of more than one person.

Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to distinguish shadows under the dim green light, but the newcomers seemed to be invisible. Sound, which was slowly shifting from one end of the room to the other, was all that he could detect.

_Someone invisible…_

Oh.

“Tom?” he called into the dark.

A light amused chuckle rang above his head. Then a whispered incarnation. The Slytherin prefect appeared in front of him.

“You might as well lift your charms too. I knew I could never deceive Harry here.” The older boy called into the room.

Some more mumbles. Then one by one, five more boys who were about Tom’s age appeared from thin air.

Harry recognized them – he had heard of them, mostly from Eileen, of course.

Those were Tom’s friends – Avery, Rosier, Mulciber, Nott and Lestrange.

“Let me introduce – Edward Avery at the entrance, Reeves Rosier behind the couch, and Blake Mulciber at the other end of the couch, and that’s Perry Nott, who’s standing by the round table, and oh, Ralph Lestrange – they are my friends. Except for Ralph, we all live in the same dormitory. And everyone, this is Harry, Harry Granger. You all know Harry. Harry is famous.”

“I’m what?”

“Famous. Of course everyone knows you, our little adventure in Diagon Alley is a legend,” Tom smiled, “Oh, and that famous punch,” he added teasingly.

“We’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Harry,” said one of the boys behind the couch – Reeves Rosier – if Harry remembered it right. 

“Yes, very curious about you indeed,” another boy who was standing by the stairs – Ralph Lestrange – smirked. “Who could possibly call Riddle ‘Tom’ and still live to see the sun?”

“Oh, shut up,” Tom waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not that creepy.”

“Definitely less lethal than Walburga,” said Blake Mulciber. “Do you know she tore Riddle’s best robe when they broke up, Harry?”

Harry blinked – not because a person whom he just knew for a few minutes called him by the name, but the news – Tom broke up with Walburga Black?

“Oh, shut up, would you?” Tom said, turning to the other five boys. Harry could see his ears turned into a deeper shade of red.

“No one talks about that incident again, I thought we were clear about the rules.”

“Yes, yes, my lord,” Perry Nott replied teasingly.

“And what are you doing here, Harry?” As if covering his embarrassment, Tom turned to Harry again, switching the topic. “Why are you not in your dormitory?”

“Sleeping, of course,” Harry answered through his teeth. “ _You_ have been in that room, haven’t you? That’s why I couldn’t get in!”

To Harry’s surprise, Tom smiled.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that, Harry. But if I hadn’t done it, when would I have been able to see you again? You were going to lock yourself up there for the weekend, weren’t you?” said Tom, but his head lowered in apology. “Anyway, it’s nice seeing you. How have you been?”

_How have you been? How have you been?_

What should he answer? Fine? A little lonely but fine? A little boring but fine? Countless answers swirling inside his brain, faster and faster, forming into a tiny tornado, the eye of which was a simple but heavy statement. He could not ignore it, could not lie about it.

_I miss you._

"I'm fine," he answered instead.

“I miss you too, Harry.”

Harry raised his head. He was just in time to see that smile again: gentle, tender, like the brightest sunshine that nurtured everything on the planet.

Nurtured what was withering inside him too.

He felt that warm hand land on his head, ruffling his hair fondly. Harry rejoiced secretly that it was dark and he didn’t need to hide his burning face.

“Hey, Tom,” Harry asked, trying not to lean into the warmth too much; his voice was uncontrollably loud again, “could you please cast that charm on me? I need to go back to the room. I don’t want to be caught again.”

Tom raised his eyebrows.

“I’d love to, Harry. But don’t you think staying here is better? This is also your dormitory. You don’t need to spend half an hour sneaking back. Besides, a Disillusionment Charm can’t trick a teacher.”

“So I can wait for Malfoy and Black to murder me in my sleep? No, thanks.”

“I doubt they still intend to do that,” Tom chuckled, “but I’m not talking about that. You can stay with me. I’m happy to take you in.”

Harry raised his head, couldn’t believe his ears.

“Tom, what – ”

"Stay with me, Harry," Tom repeated. "We've done this before, I'll cast the Extension Charm again, there's going to be enough space."

“But you have roommates – ”

“They are not going to have a problem with that,” said Lestrange.

“Oh, easy for you to say, Ralph, you don’t live with us anyways,” Rosier retorted, then he turned to Harry. “But don’t worry, little one, we really don’t have any problems. In fact, we might as well need some fun in these stressful days.”

“Don’t talk like that, Reeves,” said Tom. “Harry is not a toy.”

“Of course he’s not, my lord. He’s going to be our cutest little brother.”

Harry listened to the bickering between Tom and his friends. It was fun and new seeing how Tom joked with his friends playfully, how they retorted teasingly but somehow with a certain respect.

Before that night, he hadn’t known he missed the human voice that much.

“And what do you say, Harry?” Tom turned to him again. “Will you spend the night in my dormitory?”

Harry nodded quietly. A quiet cheer erupted in the group of boys.

“Welcome to the den of the Knights of Walpurgis, little one.”

Tom helped Harry get down from the armchair. All the other boys made way for them. Rosier bowed, tipping an imaginary hat, welcoming Harry to enter one of the dormitories at the end of the common room.

Harry followed Tom in a daze. It was the weirdest, most surprising ending of his tiring, lonely week. 

He had never, ever expected that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aquamarine-w)
> 
> [How Tom (actually) welcomed Harry into his dormitory](https://aquamarine-w.tumblr.com/post/618549039509667840/how-tom-welcomed-harry-into-his-dormitory)


	18. The Knight of Walpurgis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo many thanks to [Cybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybrid/pseuds/Cybrid)  
> for beta (and sorry for keeping u up late

A hue of green. 

Even though Harry hadn’t opened his eyes, the color still penetrated his closed eyelids, reminding him of a completely different world outside.

He could also taste the humidity in the air, hear the quiet breaths echoing in the room, smell the unfamiliar yet familiar scent in the bed that was warmed up by human bodies. 

Then he opened his eyes to see the world. The green was the color of the silk hangings of the four-poster bed he was sleeping in. The last time he’d slept in a bed like this was almost two months ago. He decided he didn’t like the texture of the hanging back then – it’s too airy, too pretentious. Unlike the heavy crimson velvet curtains of Gryffindor’s four-poster beds, these never gave him the feeling of safety.

But strangely, he somehow felt safe  _ in this bed _ .

Tom was nowhere to be seen. But Harry was sure he was still in this room. It must be early in the morning. Through the chink between the hangings, he could see the light was still dim and somehow watery. Compared with the passionate sunny mornings in the Gryffindor Tower, Slytherin mornings were more like coming back to life from hibernation, a slow and quiet procedure that caught no one’s attention.

Harry sat up. If Tom was already up, it would be rude if he lingered in his bed. He timidly lifted a corner of the hangings. Before he fully dragged it open, a gentle voice came from the other side: 

“Did you sleep well, Harry?”

Reeves Rosier. Harry opened the hangings to see the older boy was leaning to the headboard of the bed next to Tom’s, holding a book in his hands.

“Morning. It was good, thank you for asking,” Harry answered. “Where’s Tom?”

"In the bathroom, I think," said Rosier. "He's going to the library again. Pretty nerdy, isn't he?"

Harry grinned. He had nothing to refute. Before he could say anything, a sleepy, grumpy voice came from the bed next to Rosier’s.

“Urgh, I heard people talking,” Blake Mulciber mumbled. "What are you doing? It's Saturday, and it's seven in the morning. No normal people wake up at seven at weekends." 

“You can tell Riddle that,” said Rosier. “He’s been up since 5.am.”

“Nothing about Riddle is normal,” Mulciber grumbled, then turned to Harry. “Morning, Harry. I hope you slept well. I’m so sorry you have to sleep next to Rosier. He snores, you know.”

“Morning,” said Harry, suppressing a smile. “I didn’t hear anything though.”

"I Do Not Snore!" Rosier protested. "And if there's anyone who snores in this dormitory, it is you. I should learn that recording spell, record those lovely sounds, seal them in a Howler and send it to dear Miss. – ”

Harry didn’t hear the following of the sentence, for Mulciber suddenly jumped off his bed and threw himself on Rosier. The two boys soon started a silent wrestle. Harry watched with interest; he hadn’t seen such a scene for a long time.

"I'm sorry you have to witness all of this absurdity, Harry. But I guess this is how things are when you come to an adolescent age."

Harry turned to see Tom, who had changed into his school robes, looking as composed as ever, a contrast to his other roommates who had started a duel with pillows.

“Morning, Tom. Rosier told me you were going to the library today.”

“Yes, I am. And oh, I’ll need to remind you of something – ” said Tom thoughtfully, lowering his voice. “I sort of told them you are my distant relative.”

“What? Why?” Baffled, Harry raised his voice unintentionally. 

“Shh…Because it’s the fastest way for Slytherins to accept you as one of their own,” Tom explained briefly, gesturing for Harry to keep his voice low. “Slytherins value the family connections more than anything. Believe me, Harry, it will benefit you more than you can imagine.”

“But what if they ask? What kind of distant relative am I to you?” Harry asked, lowering his voice this time. “And – oh wait – have you told them about your grandfather? You know, that name…” 

“You come up with a story,” Tom grinned. “I’ll go with whatever you tell them. I believe you’ll give them a proper one. And yes, Harry, that name. Thank you for the newspaper. I appreciate it so much.”

That thank-you was quite genuine. Harry could sense it from his tone. A little late, yes, but it was enough, it was what he had wanted.

“I’m going to the library for some further confirmation,” Tom continued. “You can’t claim anyone as your grandfather just because of a name, you know. I’ll see what else I can find – but if all the clues fit, if everything implies it…It is huge progress. I owe you so much, Harry. You are a genius to think of checking the newspaper.”

Hearing the praise, Harry could feel his face burning again.

“Oh no, I just – it’s just – I mean, it’s all coincidence,” Harry stuttered. “Oh, is this why you are taking me into your dormitory?”

“Of course not,” said Tom, who seemed to be amused. “I see how reluctant you are going back to your own dormitory. I’m just offering another place you can stay aside from the Room of Requirement. You see, all my other roommates love to have you here. I’m happy to take you in too. You don’t need to go back to the Room of Requirement alone.”

The battle in front of them had become more heated and woken the rest of the dormitory. From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Edward Avery rise from his bed, grumble under his breath, and go into the bathroom. Perry Nott was staring vacantly into the ceiling in his bed, seeming to be in a morning depression.

It was like a common morning in every boy’s dormitory. Harry could even see such a scene happening amongst his old Gryffindor roommates – Maybe Neville would be the one who was in a daze; either Dean or Seamus would be the one who complained; would he and Ron start a pillow fight then? 

Could he have it again then?

He missed human companionship; he hated the silent stillness in that empty room; he wanted such noises and movements to remind him that he was still alive.

Even though they were all happening in a green and silver background.

“Tom?” said Harry, eventually. “well, if it doesn’t bother you too much, I mean… may I – ”

"Of course you can," Tom grinned, ruffling his hair. "I'll bring your trunk back tonight. Welcome to your new home, Harry.”

Harry wanted to say something more, but Tom had already turned to his other roommates. He laid his hand on the patch of skin where Tom had touched, the warmth of Tom’s hand seemed to linger.

_ Welcome home. _

=======

  
  


Though Harry offered to help Tom with the research in the library, Tom insisted that Harry should “take a break and spend some time with his new roommates”. So Harry spent most of the day playing Exploding Snap with Rosier and Mulciber. Lestrange and Nott were playing wizard’s chess. Avery was the only one who insisted that they should do their homework.

“We will be taking O.W.Ls in seven months, if we don’t study now…”

“That is a million years away,” Rosier waved his hand dismissively. “If we don’t have  _ fun _ now, we never will when the exam season comes.”

“You can have fun after the exams,” said Avery through his teeth.

But none of the boys paid him attention, and Harry was more than happy to play rather than doing homework with a sour face. Lestrange and Nott disappeared sometime around noon and brought them lunch - apparently Tom had taught all of them how to break into the kitchen.

It amazed Harry how comfortable it was to spend time with the five older boys. Harry knew age wouldn’t be a problem since he had fun with Weasley brothers too, and he could somehow associate these Slytherin boys with the Gryffindor redheads. Rosier, Lestrange, and Mulciber were the fun ones with jokes and pranks like Fred and George; Nott didn’t talk much, but seemed to be reliable like Charlie whom Ron once described; Avery was the Slytherin version of Percy, ambitious in his study and career plan.

_ People are not that different, _ Harry thought. Even in the most annoying house, he could spot something shiny.

What amazed Harry more was, all of them seemed to be interested in him, but none of them asked Harry the question which he dreaded the most – how was he related to Tom? On the contrary, their interest seemed to focus on Harry’s life as a second-year, and mostly, the second-year pure-bloods whom Harry had contact (or conflict) with.

“Ah, the Blacks,” said Avery. “Blacks are complicated. But people never seem to mind it. So Walburga still has that many admirers…”

“Don’t you fancy her too?” Rosier interrupted.

“No, I never…What are you even talking about? NO!” Avery protested loudly, but a suspicious blush crept onto his face. “Shut up, Reeves.”

The boys laughed. And since Walburga came up in the conversation, they vividly told Harry the story of how Walburga caught Tom after Transfiguration class, how she confronted him, and then fought the prefect in rage (with the other two girls' help). Harry listened with great interest, couldn't help imagining what Tom would look like when he had a huge lump (which was the size of a school barn owl) on his back and his robe shredded to strips of a mop.

Harry remembered how Eileen had commented that Tom’s friends were all “dangerous”, but this was not what he expected to be. And apparently, the five boys knew exactly how people talked about them behind their backs.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Lestrange, unimpressed. “People pretend to respect the Lestranges but behind our backs, they are spreading rumors like 'the crazy thing running in the family’. But if you ask them ‘what kind of crazy things', I bet none of them can give you anything juicy. My aunt sacrificed herself in Grindelwald’s rally, never once did I hear people talk about it. Whenever they mentioned the Lestranges, they just ‘oh, the Lestranges…oh, aren’t they a little…you know’...the prejudice and jealousy suck!” 

“Your aunt?” Harry asked, couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Leta Lestrange, one of the most outstanding Aurors in the early 20s," Rosier answered instead. "Died in Grindelwald’s Paris rally, in 1927.”

“She didn’t even leave a body,” said Lestrange briefly. “…just…gone.”

“I’m sorry about your aunt…”

“Oh, don’t be. I never knew her anyway,” said Lestrange. “She died the year I was born. Now it’s only a little story running in the family.”

Avery patted Lestrange on the shoulder. 

“I bet Ralph’s aunt met Reeve’s aunt in that rally,” Mulciber said suddenly.

Rosier turned to Mulciber.

“Blake!” he protested. “Is this how you get revenge on me? Is it because I transformed your pillow into a goose and set it on you?” 

“No? This is how I show my support,” said Mulciber, rolling his eyes. Harry could see bite marks on his arms.

“Fine. But I’m not close to Aunt Vinda anymore,” said Rosier. “She used to come over a lot when I was little, though.” 

“Reeves’ aunt – Vinda Rosier – is one of the most loyal followers of Grindelwald,” Nott explained to Harry.

“I’m not blaming you for my aunt’s death,” said Lestrange. “No one should be blamed for that. Except for Grindelwald, of course.”

The other boys murmured in agreement. 

“If we become enemies just because of one member in the family,” said Nott. “Every wizard family has the potential to turn against each other.”

“It’s not like we have many choices,” Avery agreed. “Our kind are too few. Everyone is more or less related. Even Harry. I’d never thought Harry could be related to Riddle; I thought Riddle was joking.”

"You just don't understand what is a joke, Edward," said Mulciber. “Like, Reeves and I joke, Ralph sometimes jokes.  _ Riddle _ never jokes.”

“But the resemblance,” said Rosier all of sudden. “When Harry changed into Riddle’s pajamas, I thought the second-year Riddle time-traveled here to haunt us.”

Harry almost jumped off the chair at hearing the word “time-travel”, luckily no one seemed to notice.

“Do you mean I look like Tom?” he asked, trying to cover his small panic.

“Oh, you definitely do,” answered Rosier, staring at Harry intensely. “You are both dark-haired and skinny. Except for the glasses and eyes though. That’s why I started to believe you two are related.”

Harry couldn’t help wondering: was it possible then? He knew nothing about the Potter family. But there was a possibility that someone from his father's side was related to Tom or Tom's mother. What was the man's name in the newspaper again? Marvolo…Marvolo who…

“ – but Riddle at twelve, yikes,” Mulciber grimaced.

“What was Tom like when he was twelve?” 

To his surprise, all the five boys swapped glances and burst into laughter.

“Oh, no,” Rosier laughed. “You wouldn’t want to know Riddle back then.”

“Totally an annoying brat, he was,” Mulciber shook his head fondly. 

“We hated him,” said Nott.

“Weren’t you friends back then?”

“We weren’t,” said Avery. “Not before the Forbidden Forest Trial.”

“The Forbidden Forest Trial?”

“I’ll tell the story from the beginning, little one,” said Mulciber. "No, we weren't friends back then. We hated him, hated his guts. He was this annoying know-it-all, always raising his hand high above. All teachers loved him – maybe except for Dumbledore. He knew more spells than half of the seventh-years when he was enrolled. That was quite annoying."

“How was it annoying?”

“It’s annoying to us pure-blood kids, Harry,” said Avery, “because you are not supposed to be beaten by a nameless orphan.”

"Back then my parents were like: ” said Lestrange, raising his voice to mimic someone. "Who is this Tom Riddle? Why is he always the top in every subject? And look at you, Ralph. I'm so disappointed in you. A nameless nobody beats you in every exam, how could you let that happen? Have you ever been studying? You know what, no Greece trip this summer. Now go back to your studies and finish your essay.’”

“Good old days,” Nott shook his head. “Yeah, we hated him.”

“So the Forbidden Forest Trial,” Mulciber continued. “It’s a Slytherin tradition, designated to the junior students. You need to stay in the Forbidden Forest for a night. That’s how you gain the honor and trust from the rest of the House.”

“A night in the Forbidden Forest? It’s dangerous there, and that’s against the school’s rules -”

“No one cares about school rules in Slytherin.” To Harry’s astonishment, it was Avery who answered. “Besides, no teacher is willing to go on night patrol in the Forbidden Forest anyways.”

“And of course no junior student is willing to go to the Forbidden Forest at night either,” said Lestrange, smirking. “And that’s what the trial was – show your loyalty and obedience to win the acknowledgment of the whole house.”

"Most of us – those who come from the most ancient and noble families – were able to pull strings to avoid it," said Rosier, "But those who couldn't were not so lucky. And if you are a thorn in the flesh for most people in the house, things are going to be worse.”

“And that was Riddle’s situation – ”

“The Forbidden Forest Trial Committee – yes, it’s a real thing, Harry – decided to give Riddle a special one,” said Rosier.

“They gave Riddle a special task,” Mulciber explained. “Not only did he need to stay overnight in the forest – ”

“ – he also needed to fetch a part of a creature living in the forest – ”

“ – not any creature,  _ magical creature _ .”

"You can always find rabbits and rats in the Forbidden Forest," said Avery. "but magical creatures are rare and more dangerous. You’ll need to go deep inside to find one.”

“In fact, the best those junior students could do was sticking to the edge and waiting for the sunrise,” said Rosier. “The committee would usually accept that. The Forbidden Forest is too dangerous at night. No one wanted an accident to happen. Who knows what’s in there?”

That Harry agreed. He recalled his very unpleasant experience with Malfoy in his first year. If it wasn’t for Firenze, he could have died. The forest was dangerous indeed. Harry had wondered how Hagrid had considered it safe to let them go separate ways with a dog… And Tom had to go deep inside and fetch a part of a magical creature, all by himself…

“So… what did Tom do?” Harry asked.

"He accepted it," said Rosier. "We waited for him to say no. But he didn't. He just walked into the forest at dusk, still looking calm and pretentious. He didn't even look back."

“We watched him walk into the forest that day,” said Mulciber. "And we waited for him to come out the next morning, expecting a completely different Riddle – ”

“ – but he didn’t appear,” said Lestrange.

“He didn’t come out from the forest," said Rosier, “for the whole day. When teachers asked where Riddle went, we had to come up with all the excuses why he couldn't come to class. Like Ralph came up with the one that Riddle had drunk the wrong potion and been growing purple pustules on his pretty face…"

“Did the teachers believe that?”

"Oh, they did," said Avery. "Riddle was a model student. His record was quite good. The teachers just asked about his well-being and urged us to take him to the Hospital Wing. Nothing more."

“Professor Slughorn even sent him one box of his precious crystallized pineapples," Mulciber laughed. "But we were having a tough time because teachers kept asking. And Riddle didn’t come back the next day either.”

“And the next, next day,” said Rosier.

“Riddle stayed in the Forbidden Forest for three days,” said Nott. “No one knew when he would come back, whether he was alive. All of us, including the committee, were scared.”

“No one wanted to take the responsibility,” said Avery. “If Riddle was dead, everyone involved was definitely going to be expelled. Imagine the news title in the Daily Prophet,  _ School Bullying: The Tragedy Behind the Death of a Second-year Student in Hogwarts _ …”

"And just as the Committee was discussing the countermeasures - ”

“ – and seriously considering calling off the Slytherin tradition - ”

“ – Riddle came back from the forest,” said Rosier in a mysterious voice.

“No one knew how he spent three days in the Forbidden Forest,” said Mulciber. “Except his hair was a little messy, he looked perfectly fine, like he just came back from a picnic. No injuries, no bruises, even his uniform was still neat and clean.”

“And in his hand - ”

“ – was a bundle of golden unicorn hair.”

_ Golden? _

“Wait, ” Harry interrupted. “Unicorns are silver, aren’t they? I’ve seen one before…” 

“Oh, you’ve seen a unicorn? Interesting,” said Avery. “Unicorn foals were born pure gold, they won’t turn silver until two years old. Since what Riddle had was golden, that only meant - ”

“ – he got the hair from a baby unicorn,” said Mulciber.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” said Rosier with a dreamy expression. “Shiny, shimmering with pure magic and power. People say unicorns sometimes get their tails caught on branches and may leave a skein or two...”

“But Riddle was holding a handful of it,” said Mulciber. “and the foals are usually well protected deep in the herd, so - ”

“We suspected Riddle came across the unicorn herd in the forest,” said Nott.

“And that bundle of unicorn hair was gifted,” said Rosier. “Because no unicorn would allow human beings to cut their hair without consent.”

“We all wanted to know how he did that, what happened in the forest,” said Avery. “But Riddle wouldn’t tell.”

“So many mysteries in those three days –”

“But one thing was for certain,” said Rosier. “Riddle was not just a nobody, not just a muggle-born.”

“Slytherins only bow to the true power," said Avery. "And that day we all agreed Riddle was a  _ legend _ –”

“And that was how we recognized him as our leader, whole-heartedly.”

“Of course there was something more, something else made us believe –” 

“That will be enough, Reeves.”

All of them turned to the direction of the voice – it was Tom, who had returned from the library. Harry saw his trunk by the older boy’s side.

“Welcome back, my lord,” said Rosier with a wide smile on his face.

“Thank you, Reeves,” said Tom. “And I’ve talked about this before. No one should talk about my embarrassing past anymore.”

“It’s more like glorious past,” Mulciber teased. “After all these years, you still won’t tell us what happened in the forest.”

“Because there is nothing to tell,” said Tom stubbornly, although his pale cheeks went slightly pink as he cast a floating charm on Harry's trunk and moved it into the dormitory.

“Thank you, Tom,” said Harry with amazement. “Oh, before you left the room, have you seen my snake though? I haven’t seen it for days.” 

Now he thought about it, he had probably lost it since last Sunday.

“No, I thought you had it here,” said Tom. “But don’t worry about it. The Room of Requirement won’t affect animals. We can go back and search for it any time,” he added, seeing Harry’s concerned expression.

Harry nodded, a mixture of growing unease and guilt filled his chest; he should have cared more about that little creature. He always tended to forget the snake. It was a thing he normally wouldn’t do – he had never neglected Hedwig before. 

“And by the way, Harry,” Tom asked as Harry fell in thoughts. “Have you studied my notes lately?”

Ah, the notes.  _ Oh no…  _

Tom seemed to know what Harry was thinking, judging from his looks. He sighed heavily.

“Harry, fetch the notes, would you?” said Tom. “I’ll give you a lecture, right here,  _ right now _ . You are not going to run away from it again.”

Harry could do nothing else but slipping off his armchair reluctantly. He went into Tom's dormitory and took the notes. When he came back, Tom had already sat on the armchair he left; there was no empty seat in the small inner circle that was formed by Tom and Tom's friends.

“Come here, Harry,” Tom called. Sensing Harry’s hesitance, the older boy reached to him, dragging him closer, until the twelve-year-old stumbled into his warm embrace.

There was a moment of bewilderment and embarrassment. But eventually, the prefect managed to hold the smaller boy close to his chest. Harry sat awkwardly on his lap. He had no idea where to put his hands. His face was in the same color as his old Gryffindor dormitory.

Tom dragged a thick black book out of his bag; Harry caught a glimpse of the cover before he opened it.

A History of Time – From Theory to Practice.

“I must apologize for the first chapter,” said Tom. “I didn’t think most of the content was worth the attention, but if it bothers you so much, I should at least let you read the original content.”

Tom placed the book in front of both of them to let Harry see the pages clearly. Although Harry was internally squirming at the awkwardly intimate position, he couldn’t help his curiosity towards the book. He had never read it properly. The content under the subtitle of _the most ancient myth of time_ _magic_ seemed to be much longer than the pathetic few lines Tom copied into his notes.

And behind him, Tom started to read.

“Thousands of years ago, people believed human being’s destiny was woven by Moira – the goddess of fate, the mother of all lives.  Clotho , Lachesis, and Atropos – they spun the strings of life, measured them, cut them when the time came…”

“Back then, the world was under the rules of Harmonia, guarded by the mother of all gods. Chronos was the guide of the tunnel of the flowing age, Bios was the flames that thrived on the ground...”

…

……

… … …

_ The world was under the rules of Harmonia, guarded by the mother of all gods; _

_ Chronos was the vertical bearer of time, Bios was the horizontal flames of life; _

_ The weaver of the universe used both strings, linking every life into one being; _

_ The parallel horizons stayed in their own peace, the revolving cogwheels were kept in their own place; _

_ But what if an intruder appears; _

_ The breaker of the rules, the linker of the dark forests; _

_ Where they connect parallel horizons – the paths cross, the streams meet; _

_ While the strings of fates will never be cut; _

_ The water accumulates through the threads, forming into a spring of great power; _

_ The power shakes the earth, the power strikes the sky; _

_ Yet no mortal can bear such burden; _

_ A dark shadow is formed, following them until their death; _

_ A death that would be sudden, a death that was for certain; _

_ Oh, Godness… _

_ Was it a gift of Chronos, or was it a curse… _

………

……

…

=======

  
  


Tom’s voice was the best lullaby, Harry thought sleepily.

Shy and awkward at first, but once he got used to the warmth behind his back and the breath fanning his ears, he started to feel comfortable. It was the most settling thing. It must be what it felt like having a family, having a real older brother reading him a bedtime story.

And it did sound like a bedtime story.

Tom was right: it’s just a myth. A myth about the Greek gods – the goddess of fate, Moira. A myth he could probably find in any children’s book. He shouldn’t have bothered… even though it sounded so familiar, sounded so much like something that echoed in his dreams…sounded like his own fate…

He shifted a little to sit more comfortably. He found Tom’s shoulder happened to be in a perfect position to place his head, so he leaned onto it, and relaxed fully into the warm embrace.

Maybe Tom paused a second or two in his reading. Was he surprised? Would he mind? Harry didn’t care. What was the harm to act like a spoiled child? He never had a shoulder to lean to. He was allowed to be like a twelve-year-old.

It was this sweet cozy moment that he never wanted to end. If he could, he wanted time to stop at the moment. 

If he could…

  
  


=======

  
  


“You are not teacher material, Riddle,” said Mulciber. “Look how your student fell asleep literally within five minutes after you started talking.”

Tom gave him a stern look. But his movement was light and gentle as he carried Harry to the dormitory. He could sense the boy nuzzled against his shoulder in sleep. A sensation of peace waved through him. A feeling he hadn’t had for years.

It was this satisfying moment that he wanted to last. He wondered if any time magic could stop the time. Time could be reversed, time could be sped up. But was time always flowing and could never be frozen?

If there was a spell that could freeze the moment, he wanted to learn; if there was any moment he wanted to seize, it was the present.

Because everything was so perfect, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [art work based on the last scene](https://aquamarine-w.tumblr.com/post/618459027784024064)


End file.
